It was all I had.
Whether I’d convinced the micro army ahead that I was more than one, I had no idea. But as I neared them, it ceased to matter. Two were down.
Two to go.
A round hit the dirt by my feet. I dodged away and cocked a shot in the dark, taking a chance on the movement patterns of men I didn’t know.
The gamble paid off. A pained howl cut through the night and I was down to one man.
Six bullets, if my adrenaline-laced arithmetic was correct, but it wasn’t always. Counting ammo in the heat of battle was a game of chance, and I wasn’t in the market for the dreaded death click.
Breathing hard, I took cover for a rapid round check.
Seven. Another win. Heart hammering, I chanced a glance at the muscle ducking behind the crippled Range Rover. I couldn’t see his gun, but I’d heard it. It was more powerful than mine with longer range. If he got a shot on target, I was done, but I couldn’t find the will to fear it. Not because I wanted to die. More, that in moments like these, I’d forgotten how to be afraid.
It would hit me later.
Maybe.
A shot popped off, hitting a tree close enough to get me moving again.
I broke cover and ran forward, waiting for the mafia dude to take aim, rolling at the last moment, the round whizzing past my head, jump-starting my pulse all over again.
Cartwheeling through the dirt stole my bearings. I landed on my knees and let a wild shot fly, hoping for the best.
Nothing happened. I moved again.
Fired.
Got silence in response.
He’s drawing me out.
Clever dude. And if I’d been a grunt with a water pistol, it might’ve worked. But I’d fought this fight before, too many times to count, and I knew the way out was the most obvious. The stupidest. Because it was the last thing he expected me to do.
Weapon raised, I ran at full speed, bursting into his field of vision too fast for him to aim a shot at me. Then I was on him, fists flying as hard and sharp as any bullet, knocking his gun from his hand, knuckles cracking bone.
He fell, taking me with him. We grappled on the ground and he was bigger than me. Taller. Heavier. But he lacked the skills I’d had drilled into me at a molecular level. The state of mind that had kept me standing in far worse fights than this.
I put him down.
Lights out, for a little while, at least. The others were dead, but I wasn’t into killing people I didn’t have to.
Wasn’t into tasting my own blood either. I swiped at my split lip, grumbling, blowing out a measured breath as the adrenaline pumping in my veins ebbed away. Awobblybreath. Any man who said a fight to the death didn’t shake him was a liar.
I still had the radio in my ear, the mic clipped to my collar. The eerie quiet of the night let me know Alexei’s fight was over too, but I sent him silent communication, just in case. A rhythmic buzz of coded static.
His reply was instant. “You are okay?”
“Yup. Got three heavy ones, though.”
“Where is the other?”
“Not as heavy.”
“Wait with him. I will come in their car and find you.”
Silence fell over me again. I crouched by the unconscious man at my feet, on guard for any sign he was waking up, all the while on hyper-alert for Alexei’s approach.
