He didn’t let up. As I recoiled in pain, he brought his left elbow up and smashed it into my face. Lights flashed in front of my eyes. I dropped my knife. Lorenzo then snap-kicked me in the chest, sending me crashing to the floor.
He was on top of me in an instant. I kicked out, nailing him in the groin. Lorenzo grunted and gasped for air, face turning red. I turned around, fumbling for any kind of weapon. My hand found the rock I used to prop the balcony door open. Grasping it, I sat up and threw it at Lorenzo as hard as I could. His hands flew up to cover his face. The white, softball-sized Zubaran rock hit him in the forearms. He reeled back.
I only had a second. I sat up and dove toward my bed. I desperately grasped for my holstered revolver sitting on my armor. Lorenzo reached me before I could reach my .44, trying to plunge his blade into my back.
LORENZO
It should have been over by now. I should have been able to take him, but those initial hits had left me disoriented, sluggish. Before I could drive my knife into his spine, his enormous boot hit me in the stomach. My abs absorbed the hit, but I staggered back, gasping for air. The kid was pulling that big .44 now, the muzzle swinging toward me.
I stepped into him, knife humming through the air. He raised his right hand to hold me off and I opened his forearm, splashing the walls with red droplets. The kid screamed as the blade struck. But I was too late, he swiveled the big revolver into me from a low retention position.
The concussion was deafening in the little room. The mammoth slug hit me square in the chest. My armor stopped it, but I couldn’t breathe. It was like being hit with a bat. Fire washed down every nerve. It took everything I had to stay on my feet. We locked up, me trying to keep that gun away and his blood-slick hand wrapped around my wrist to keep my knife at bay.
I got my fingers around the cylinder of the Smith and wouldn’t let it turn as he squeezed the trigger. I could feel his other hand slipping off my knife, and as soon as he let go I was going to plunge it into his neck. We spun around, shoving and grunting, stumbling over the junk on the floor. He was shouting in my ear.
All coherent thought had ceased. It was kill or be killed. No time for fear, no time for pain. I kept throwing knees, trying to tear him down. He head-butted me in the face, smashing my nose, but he stumbled back as well. My eyes filled with involuntary tears, and my hand began to slip from the cylinder.
Desperate, I dropped my knife, reached across his torso, and got my thumb under the hammer of the Smith just as it fell, blocking the shot. His wounded hand now free, the kid swung for my face. I ducked, pushed the gun away from me, and hit him repeatedly, forearms, fists, elbows, knees, every time that gun came back around, I hit him again. He went to his knees, still trying to shoot me. I stepped back and snap-kicked him in the face.
He landed flat on his back with a huge crash.
That had to do it. I bore down on him, ready to beat his head in. He jerked the gun up.
BOOM!
There was a flash of light as he fired, so close that fire engulfed my vision. He missed, but pain like nothing I had ever felt before pierced the right side of my skull. The bullet skimmed past my head and blew a chunk from the ceiling, but I was already falling, clamping one hand over my bleeding ear.
My balance was just gone. I could barely think. I wanted to vomit. All I could hear was this terrible grinding noise as my eardrum died. He was rising, wobbly, seeing two of me. Then I saw tiny green lights under the bed, the night sights from my 9mm. I snatched it into my hand, rolled over and stood, gun punching out, finger already on the trigger.
I was staring down the barrel of his .44. The suppressor of my gun was inches from my opponent’s face, centered on the bridge of his nose. Our fingers were on the triggers, both of us just ounces of pressure away from oblivion.
We glared at each other. Each of us battered, cut, bleeding, and pulped. I was blowing frothy blood bubbles every time I exhaled. He moved his mouth. He was talking. Holy shit, I’m deaf! I could barely understand him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Careful not to let my gun move, I reached into my vest, grimacing as my hand brushed the area that was now one massive spreading bruise, and pulled out Adar’s box. “I’ve got what I came for.”
Nightcrawler was confused. “That? I don’t even know what that is!”
“I’ll be going now,” I said.
He was shaking badly, and blood was dripping from his forearm, but it wasn’t pumping like I’d severed the artery. Too bad. “I don’t think so.”
I didn’t hear the door open behind me, but I did feel the terrible impact as they smashed a rifle butt over my head. I ended up on the floor. The last thing I remember was looking at the ceiling, surrounded by angry shadows pointing guns at me. I couldnunderstand a word they were saying over that damn ringing, and then everything faded to blessed black.
Chapter 19:
Best Laid Plans
VALENTINE
It was like an old John Woo movie. Lorenzo and I stood in my little room, not six feet from each other, guns drawn. Neither of us fired. I don’t know why. My arm was bleeding badly and burned with pain. I was dizzy and felt sick. It hurt to breathe. Only the Calm kept me focused enough to stay in the fight. I barely noticed the pain, and even though I was terrified, I felt no fear.
He was so focused on me that he didn’t notice the door opening behind him. Tailor, Hudson, and two of Hunter’s security guys came rushing in, weapons at the ready. I lowered my gun just as Hudson bashed Lorenzo in the head with the buttstock of a carbine. The intruder’s gun clattered to the floor as he collapsed. He lay there for a second, staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling before losing consciousness.
I stepped back, setting my revolver down on the bed, and clutched my bleeding arm. The Calm was wearing off, and I was beginning to notice the pain. And holy crap did it hurt.
“Michael!” Sarah said, pushing her way through the men in my room, holstering her Sig .45. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “What happened?” she asked. “Your face! You have a cut on your face! I was walking back to the dorm when I heard the shots. Oh my God! Your arm!” She turned to yell at Hunter’s men as they picked Lorenzo up off the floor. “Get a medic up here right now! He’s injured!” Shouts went out for the doc.
“Val, what the fuck happened up here?” Tailor asked. He lowered his carbine as Hunter’s two security guys dragged Lorenzo away.
“That’s the guy from Hasa Market,” I said, wincing with the pain.
Nervously, Tailor looked around for anyone who wasn’t in the know. “Did he come back for his money?”
“He was in here looking for that puzzle box I found in Adar’s safe. I jumped him. Son of a bitch is a hell of a fighter. If I hadn’t got the drop on him he’d have sliced me open.” I said, straining. “Where the hell is Hal? Christ, I’m bleeding like crazy here.” I wiped the blood from my cheek, smearing it across my face.
“Stop being a pussy,” Tailor said. “Focus. You sure he wasn’t after the money?”