At the last second, Catriona rolled away and Volkov hit the empty mat. She turned and chopped hard at his throat, striking him in the Adam’s apple with all her strength.
Volkov wheezed, grabbing at his throat. Catriona clapped her hands together above her head to create a hammer and swung down, striking him in the testicles.
If the strike to his windpipe didn’t leave him breathless, the groin shot would. She’d accidentally hit men there at the gym. She didn’t understand it, but she knew the effect ended fights very quickly.
Volkov jerked to a sitting position, howling, gagging, still struggling to breathe. He sounded like an amorous alley cat who’d smoked a pack of cigarettes every day through all nine lives.
Catriona twisted her body and punched him in the nose with every last trace of power in her body. He flattened to his back and she straddled him, pinning his arms to his body. Left and then right, over and over she struck at him, never giving him the chance to find his breath. He bucked, trying to throw her off of him, but she clung to him like an octopus’ sucker. Her mind told her to run to the ladder, that he’d never be able to stop her in time, but enraged, for herself and the women in the oubliette, she continued to pound him, striking like a tireless machine.
“Catriona!”
The voice came from behind her. She paused for a split second, distracted from her attack. Volkov took the opportunity to whip his arm out from beneath her. His face covered in blood, he threw a blind punch, striking her in the side of the head.
The blow knocked her sideways and she struck her opposite temple on the stone wall.
The world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Broch opened the trapdoor. The smell of dirt and something much more foul struck his nostrils.
It smelled like death.
A ladder led to the bottom of a shallow dugout. The floor appeared blue, and Broch wasn’t sure what to make of that. Light shone from another source below and to the right, so he knew the cellar continued.
It has tae be a prison...
Why else would someone dig a hole like that? He’d seen no root cellars since arriving in Los Angeles. Certainly people didn’t grow and store their own food in this godforsaken desert town.
Every sinew in his body strained, begging for him to call out to Catriona, but he couldn’t risk alarming whatever guard might be down there with her.
Volkov had to be down there.
Broch mounted the ladder and climbed into the pit. Crouching to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling, he shuffled down a ramp with the same blue padding for flooring as the first room. Something ahead of him steadily thudded.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Poking his head into the room, he saw Catriona straddling a man, beating him with her fists.
He said the word before he could stop himself.
“Catriona!”
Catriona turned. Her mouth had just begun to curl into a smile when the man beneath her struck out with his right hand, knocking her from her perch and into the wall beside them. Broch watched her head bounce off the stone, then she slumped to the ground.
A sheet of blood covered the man’s face, but Broch could tell who it was.
Volkov.
Volkov pushed Catriona off of him and leapt to his feet. The Russian wiped the blood from his eyes and roared, running at Broch like a man possessed.
Broch swung but Volkov dipped, tackling him at the waist. Hammering with his elbow, Broch struck at his attacker’s shoulder. The Russian spun away from him, taking a defensive stance on the opposite side of the room. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye and Volkov slapped at it, bouncing on his toes, motioning for Broch to come forward.
“Bring it!”
Broch sized up his foe. The man was naked but for a pair of tightfitting shorts, his muscular body slick with sweat and blood and covered in tattoos. He wasn’t a small man, and while his swollen face and bleeding eye implied Catriona had taken something out of him, his frenzied demeanor suggested Broch would be fighting something more than an average man.
“You ruined the best part,” said Volkov licking his lips.
Broch clenched his fists. “Ah think the best part’s aboot tae happen richt noo.”
The two men ran at each other, grappling like bears. Broch’s hands slipped on sweaty skin and Volkov took the opportunity to punch him in the side of his jaw. Broch stumbled back against the wall, angry at himself for letting Volkov take a shot. He ran at the man again. Volkov swung and Broch blocked the blow, catching the Russian in the center of the church tattooed over his solar plexus. The air rushed out of him, but Volkov continued to shower Broch with blows. Broch did his best to block the bulk of the punches until he was able to catch the Russian with a good right. Volkov fell back, shaking his head like a wet dog, blood flying from his limp, wet hair.
Volkov spat blood on the ground. “She fought like a tiger.”
Broch felt the anger rise in his blood, and fought his urge to run at the man.
Be smart.
He continued to circle, planning his next attack. He didn’t want to drag the fight out any longer. He needed to tend to Catriona. But he also didn’t know the playing field. Didn’t know what traps the dungeon might contain.
“I made her hurt. She didn’t want to cry out but I made her.”
Broch’s patience failed him.
Nope. Ah’m gonna rush him nae.
As Broch leapt forward, Volkov flew into the air as if pulled up by a string. His body contorted as he swung his foot at Broch’s head.
