Page 51 of Ash Storm

Ash

Ash circled counterclockwise, keeping a steady distance between himself and the robot-like giant with the piercing blue eyes.

His neck was thick—an extension of his square head. His arms and pectorals were savagely dense. This man had put in the work to get ripped and Ash knew from watching him fight the previous day that his strength wasn’t just for show.

He had no idea which of the twins he was looking at—Johannes or Willhelm—nor could he find it in him to care. They even had the same Fenrir wolf tattooed on the left sides of their chest. It was a symbol Ash knew had been co-opted by various hate groups. He wondered if the twins knew.

It would certainly make it easier to do what he had to do, if he knew his opponent was associated with any of those groups.

To the death.

The man in front of him had done him no wrong. Ash didn’t want to kill him. But he would, if he had to. Not for money—there wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt him—but for the chance to get the two young women safely out of here and bring Afsan down.

The blond giant pulled out the twisted blade Jagdkommando knife he’d selected.

The setting sun and the light from the countless lamps and candles that had once again been lit up around the courtyard made everything look golden, including the ornate blade.

It wasn’t the most agile choice, perhaps, but definitely a statement of intent.

The Jagdkommando was not a knife used to scare people away. It was a knife designed to enter deep, then twist into a wound, destroying anything that got in its way.

Challenge accepted, asshole.

Ash gripped the Scandinavian survival knife tighter, holding it at a slight angle.

And still they circled each other.

Tonight, the mat was red, symbolizing the only rule in today’s sick game. The first man to leave the mat would forfeit his life. The red was a nice touch. Just like the dais where the women were being made to stand. It had to be said, Afsan was a born choreographer.

The blond giant finally lost his patience. He attacked, moving fast, faster than his bulk would seem to imply. But Ash had already known that, from seeing him fight the previous day, and he was expecting it.

A slight twist of his wrist allowed him to turn his blade into a shield. Ash put his weight behind it, countering the force of the man’s attack. Johannes-Wilhelm slipped, not expecting any resistance, and Ash used his other hand to strike at the hand holding the Jagdkommando knife.

He hit right where the wrist met the hand. The giant’s fingers opened up reflexively and the dangerous knife clattered to the ground. The next part was a risk, but one Ash couldn’t avoid. He went for the knife, kicking it away beyond the mat, far enough that his opponent wouldn’t be able to grab it without leaving the mat, which he couldn’t do.

The crowd around them thickened, like sharks sensing blood from a mile away.

For the first time, the big man’s eyes flashed with something like uncertainty.

Ash threw his own knife away, also far beyond the mat. Then he flexed his thick arm muscles, curling the fingers in his right hand in a come hither motion.

The crowd oohed and aahed.

Standing in the first row, Afsan clapped.

I’ve got your attention now.

Johannes-Wilhelm’s courage was back. He smiled broadly, showing a lot of pink gum. He smiled as if he couldn’t believe his luck—or Ash’s stupidity—then struck Ash with a jab cross combo that was as simple as it was powerful. Ash ducked and weaved, getting behind the man and slamming him with a hard kidney punch.

It was the kind of punch which, when landed well, could leave a man pissing blood for days. It was also the kind of move that could get a man disqualified from any professional fight, but Ash wasn’t fighting for a trophy here. He was a soldier—or he had been, at least—and he’d trained for fights he couldn’t afford to lose.

Ash landed it just right. He felt it reverberate along his straight arm, all the way to his shoulder. Johannes grunted in pain and doubled over.

Ash was almost disappointed at how easy this was going to be. Now he just had to—

The giant’s leg struck out with a sideways kick to Ash’s knee.

Fuck.