Before Mack processed movement, the assassin struck. A searing pain radiated through his side. His pistol clattered to the ground, and he slapped a hand to his stomach, fresh hot blood immediately drenching his fingers. It was as if the knife had appeared out of nowhere. The assassin now hung back, holding the blade like it was an extension of his hand.
Weakness seeped up his feet to his knees and thighs, bringing with it a cold realization: Mack wasn’t going to win this one. He wasn’t going to get to kill Mankel. He wasn’t going to win.
Marley . . . Mack’s legs gave out and he went to his knees. He needed to see her. He needed to touch her. He needed to tell her he loved her and that he forgave her.
The assassin stepped up, raising his arm to deliver the death blow. But there was no smile of victory on his face, no expression at all. Mack squared his shoulders, ready to go out like the soldier he was.
He was dimly aware of his men fighting around him. Deep grunts and the sound of bodies slamming into metal filled the room. There was a crash and then a high pitched alarm went off.
Suddenly the assassin seized, dropped the knife, and fell to the floor convulsing.
What the fuck?
He didn’t have time to process before his survival instincts kicked into high drive. He grabbed the assassin’s knife, slammed it into the man’s temple and knocked him out. His body went limp, except for a few twitches.
Staggering to his feet, Mack saw the rest of his men in much the same condition as he had been—wounded and fighting a losing battle. Everyone except Merc, who had blood dripping from his face and hands but was still holding his own. He was all about letting each man take care of himself, but the assassins they fought weren’t human; they didn’t move like regular men. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and watch his team get taken out by Mankel’s scientific experiments.
Mack snuck up behind the assassin attacking Hunter and brought the hilt of the knife down hard on the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled. Hunter gave him a nod, his face bloody, before turning to assist his brother. Mack went to help Jared, but Mankel’s guy saw him coming and kicked out a leg, catching Mack straight in his wounded side. Blinding, white-hot agony stole his breath. He couldn’t even gasp. He doubled over and clutched his side. Jared moved in with an upper cut, and the assassin flew backward and hit the ground, down but not out.
Trying not to black out, Mack grabbed the nearest table and fought off a wave of dizziness threatening to take him under.Mankel – he had to stay conscious.
There were more grunts, more thuds. Merc took a punishing blow from his opponent.
The screeching alarm from earlier sounded again. The assassin shuddered as if in pain. His entire expression shifted from cold killer to savage animal. He threw back his head and roared and shoved the computer off the desk nearest him.
Merc took an uneasy step back, holding his knife in front of him. The assassin launched with inhuman speed and power, going for Merc’s throat with his bare hands. Merc’s knife clattered to the floor. They went down hard, crashing into a chair and taking it out before they hit the ground. The assassin never let go of Merc’s neck.
Merc slammed his fist into his face, a move that would knock out any other man, but the assassin barely flinched. He squeezed tighter. Merc choked and got in another punch, this time to the side of the assassin’s head. He didn’t let up an inch. His whole deadly focus was on choking the life out of Merc.
Hunter dove in, gun raised and slammed the hilt of his pistol into the assassin’s temple. He jerked and then fell forward, unmoving.
“What the fuck was that?” Hunter growled as he pulled the man off Merc and helped his teammate to his feet.
Merc stumbled, grabbed the desk and held on, gasping for breath. “I don’t know, but he didn’t even feel my hits.”
What the hell was going on here? There wasn’t a single human being on this planet that wouldn’t fall under Merc’s massive fists. But right now, he didn’t have time to analyze the unconscious men. He had to find Mankel first.
Riser still lay unconscious on the ground. A hard cough wracked Mack, nearly taking him down. He shook it off, but the floor tilted and he was falling and . . .
Hunter suddenly had his arms under Mack, lifting him up. “We got it from here, Colonel. We need to back you out of here. You’re losing blood fast.”
“No,” Mack ripped out. “Mankel first.”
Hunter just shook his head. “Stubborn bastard.”
“Is Riser okay?”
There was a groan. Then Riser was sitting up, hands cupped over his temples. “Shit, that hurts.” He blinked and surveyed the room. “Looks like I missed out on a really good fight.”
Ethan chuckled and helped him to his feet. “We opened up a can of straight-up whoop ass. They never had a chance.”
“Yeah, and they went schizophrenic on our asses,” Hunter mumbled.
Mack took a step, grinding his teeth together to keep from hissing in pain. His shoulder burned, and his side felt like he had a hot poker lodged in it. Even his jaw throbbed. But he had a mission to complete—a mission to kill Mankel. Now that the tide had turned again, he might have his chance . . . “Find him. Find that bastard now.”
He didn’t know how much longer he had before blacking out, but he had made a promise to his team and himself. He’d see this through or die trying. Mack took a staggering step forward. Riser supported him with a shoulder under his arm on his non-injured side. “Colonel, you’re losing too much blood. We can finish this.”
“No. Me.”
