The little shit stumbles back, wiping the blood from his nose.
“That all you got old man?”
“Got more than you think, you piece of shit.”
The kid laughs, shuffling forward, raising his fists.
“Bring it on,” Jaxx growls.
Jaxx ducks the first swing, but takes a solid shot to the gut. The kid has some skills, Jaxx notices as the little shit lands another combination. Jaxx shoves him back earning an amused laugh from the punk-ass kid. Jaxx next blocks an onslaught of ill-placed fury blinding shots, while staying low.
“Come on, old man! Show me what you got!” the kid shouts.
Jaxx steps back, grinning, “Your death.”
He gets low, staying under the swinging fists of the punk kid. Seeing his opening, Jaxx shoves the guy away and in the same move, reaches into his back pocket, clicking the switchblade out and jams it straight into the kid’s belly, giving it a twist.
The kid’s eyes widen as Jaxx grabs him by the throat, jamming him up against the wall. Jaxx twists the blade again, and the kid starts to pale.
“Who sent you?”
The kid shakes his head as a grunt escapes his mouth. Jaxx twists the blade yet again.
“Tell me.”
The kid has balls, Jaxx realizes, pulling the blade from his gut and stepping back. Catching his breath, Jaxx watches him.
“You think you should be afraid of your employer and what they’ll do if you talk?”
“I got nothing to say,” he says.
“Okay, but for the record, you should have been more afraid of me.”
The kid’s eyes bulges, as he slumps down the wall. Jaxx steps forward, crouching down in front of him, grabbing the punk by the cheeks and lifts his head.
“Kill me,” he whispers.
Jaxx smiles, “That’s the plan. I’ll kill you all, you goddamn bastards.”
Back in his apartment, the kid didn’t give up anything. Jaxx stares at his reflection in the mirror. Despite how barbaric hand-to-hand combat was, it felt good killing someone connected to his would-be assassination and to what happened to his sister. Drying his face, Jaxx exits the washroom heading to the kitchen. He grabs a beer, walks over to the window, looking out. He’s alert, scanning everyone on the street, making certain no more attackers are lurking.
Thinking back, Jaxx recalls how quickly his life changed. One moment he’s in Bora Bora in bed with an exotic beauty, the next he’s taking cover as the hut is sprayed with bullets. Amateurs, he thinks.
Jaxx sighs, remembering when he woke in the hospital. A petite brunette in a white doctor’s coat looked down at him. Her green eyes weren’t the typical plain-Jane green. There was depth and glints of what appeared to be lavender in them. Closing his eyes, he can picture her body, liking every curve of it.
“Mr. Drake.”
“Yeah.”
She walked over to the chart stashed in a bend at the front of the bed and skimmed it. Jaxx watched her until she flipped it closed and then pulled a stool close to his bed. The scent Chanel 5 assaulted his senses and for a moment, he couldn’t help think about what she’d be like in bed.
He smirks, watching a car drive down the street below as his thoughts drift back.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Not your fault. So?”
“It’s what we in the profession call a miracle. We are still not sure how or why, the bullet didn’t penetrate the skull into the soft brain tissue. From what we know, you should be dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
She flushed, “I didn’t mean…”
“No worries, tell me the rest.”
She was quiet for a moment, but nodded, “Of course, you suffered severe intracranial hemorrhaging. Which we managed to stop and you lost a lot of blood. This is why you lapsed into a coma.”
“How long was I out?”
“Six months. I’ll be honest. You have some difficult days ahead to make a full recovery, but I think there’s a strong possibly of you doing just that,” she said.
Jaxx tears his thoughts away from that time. He understood the risks, one day you do the hunting the next you’re the hunted. Messages that had to be delivered, but this didn’t bother him. He too delivered messages, deadly ones; no this is life pure and simple, an assassin’s life. It didn’t mean he had to accept it, especially when lines were crossed. They shouldn’t have touched my sister. Moving away from the window, Jaxx heads to his room. Grabbing a burner phone from off the dresser, he punches in a number.
“It’s me.”
Patri shifts looking over at the desk where his father sits, letting a smile creep onto his face, knowing soon the old fucker would be dead. The thought excited him.
“Idiot, you idiot,” his father roars in Russian.
“Father,” Patri says.
“Don’t father me, you are no son of mine,” Vicktor Nikoliski yells, slamming a fist on the desk. He jabs a thin finger at him, “A friggin’ disgrace, you are a disgrace.”
“I…”
“Fucked up everything, you and your stupidity.”
Vicktor glares at him. Patri shrugs.
“Calm yourself Vick,” American born, Wentworth Jordon, says as he pockets his Blackberry. “So the dimwit slaps around some little bitch. These things will blow over, and if she causes trouble, she can always meet God.”
The man gives a sinister chuckle. Patri hates him, even more now that they are grown. Vicktor sighs heavily. Wentworth grins at him and Patri feels the urge to get up and bash in his face, but remains seated.
“Wentworth, our business partners will not want to push ahead with our arrangement if they think we are associated with abusers, my own fucking blood,” Vicktor counters.
The entrepreneur chuckles retrieving the Blackberry, typing, “You worry too much. I’ve already arranged to have someone chat with the girl. I do suggest you put your incompetent son some place where he can’t do any more damage until we close this deal. We’ll make a billion with the Chinese when it’s done.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Patri says.
“Of course you are, Patty. I bet you even got off on it, huh? Sick bastard you are. You did, didn’t you?”
“Enough,” Vicktor says, pressing his fingers together, looking over at his son.
This is who will take over upon my death? The thought sickens Vicktor.
“Son, it would appear you will be taking a vacation.”
His father’s words did not faze him. Patri merely smiles, because at least Maxine knew the truth, so he held his tongue. For he knew he would soon be King.
Late that night, Jaxx rides through the busy streets, until he reaches the rendezvous. Kicking the stand down on the motorcycle, Jaxx takes off his helmet, surveying the area before starting down the alley. A man’s face flashes crimson as he strikes a match to light his cigarette. He looks up when Jaxx clears his throat.
“’Bout time, man.”
“Yeah, well I’ve been busy,” Jaxx says, reaching into a pocket and producing an envelope.
The other man checks the cash, gives a nod, tucking the envelope away. He next reaches inside his jacket, producing a manila file. Jaxx opens it up and reads.
“You sure, you want to do this?”
“Got no choice, they messed with my blood.”
“Copy that. It’ll be like a great wall of China to get to them,” the man says.
“It won’t matter, they’re all dead,” Jaxx growls slapping shut the file.
“Well rumour is Wentworth and Vicktor are planning a deal with Tao Chan.”
“Tao Chan, the property developer?”
“Same one. It’ll legitimize them, so goes the rumour mill. Those two are all about the money and Chan brings boat loads to the table, plus the legitimacy of it.”