In the corner was the gun that Sam had tossed, but as he inched towards it, a mighty boot crashed into his rib cage, flipping him over onto his back, and driving what little air was left straight from his lungs.
Farukh dropped down to one knee, his leather clad hands shooting out and locking onto Sam’s throat.
Sam gasped for air, slamming his fists into the man’s meaty forearms, but he just struck the leather of the jacket.
While he wasn’t hanging Sam in the traditional sense, the twinkle in Farukh’s eye told Sam he was enjoying it. Choking the life from another man was one of the most powerful things he could do, and Farukh pushed his immense weight down, the air supply cutting off completely.
Sam gasped for air, his face turning a sickening purple as his eyes began to bulge.
This was it.
The entire fight coming to an end by the hands of the most dangerous man he’d ever face.
A horrifying thud echoed in the room, as the metal slammed against the back of Farukh’s head with enough force to knock it clean from his shoulders.
Moaning with pain as blood splattered to the ground, Farukh wobbled, releasing his hold on Sam’s throat. Singh, who had decided to repay her debt to Sam, had returned, wielding a metal pipe she’d taken from the scaffolding.
The first swing had loosened the big guy up.
Her second swing was just a split second too late.
Farukh had already digested the pain, recalibrated, and he caught the swing under his arm, locking the pole in place and he hoisted himself up, driving his forehead into Singh’s face and knocking her clean off her feet. Sam gasped for air, gulping greedily as he tried to fill his lungs, aware that Singh was in danger.
Singh tried to get to her feet, but Farukh swung the back of his hand like a tennis racket, his knuckles crashing across her face and sending her sprawling to her knees.
‘You bitch,’ he spat, furious at the shocking display of disrespect. Never in his life had he been struck by a woman and to him, there was only one penalty.
Death.
Grabbing Singh by the hair, he pulled her to her knees, then with a hard wrench that made her howl in pain, he yanked her head back, exposing her slim neck.
With his other hand gleefully gripping the curved blade, he brought it to her throat and with his eyes locked on her terrified stare, pressed the blade to her skin.
Singh felt the blade just break to top layer of skin, the stinging sensation only adding to the tears as she accepted her death.
Sam slammed into the Hangman with all his might, lifting him off the ground and away from Singh who gasped loudly, narrowly avoiding death.
Sam, with his arms locked around the Hangman’s waist, continued charging forward, the brute slamming a hard fist into his already bruised spine.
Farukh slashed at Sam with the blade, and Sam felt the razor-sharp tool slash his arm and shoulder through his bomber jacket.
He kept running.
After a few more metres, Farukh’s heels clipped the concrete frame of the window and the two of them spilled out through the plastic sheet, falling dangerously onto the rickety boards of the scaffolding. Sam released his hold and clutched the edge of the board, stopping himself from sliding across the soaked wood to his impending death below.
He wished he hadn’t looked at the steep drop, and he pulled himself back, just in time to welcome a hard knee to his chest from the Hangman. Farukh, with the rain crashing against his leather clad body, was irate and he swung a few vicious punches at Sam, rocking his body as he absorbed each blow.
With his left hand still clutching the blade, Farukh swung, but Sam ducked and leapt up, planting Farukh with a vicious left elbow to the side of the head, before sending him back a few steps with a right uppercut.
Farukh took a second, dabbed at his cut lip and smiled.
‘A fighter,’ Farukh said approvingly, before launching forward with another few rights, which Sam blocked, only to drill a knee into Sam’s stomach. As he hunched forward, Farukh drove Sam’s face off the metal pole that ran the length of the scaffolding, his nose crushed on impact. Disorientated, Sam stumbled worryingly near the edge and Farukh swung his left hand again.
The blade slashed down the back of Sam’s jacket, slicing through his clothes and drawing a mighty gash down his spine. Sam howled in pain, and Farukh drove a hard boot into his spine, sending him sprawling into the railing. Sam flopped over the metal bar, the agony of the assault getting the better of him. On the streets below, he watched as a series of blue lights pulled up outside the building, the police arriving in numbers to no doubt bring this all to a close. He saw the armed team jumping from the back of the van, mobilising, and getting ready to swarm the building.
It would all be over.
But it would be too late.
Slowly, he turned to face Farukh, throwing a few sloppy right hands that the Hangman batted away easily. Farukh reached out and grabbed Sam by the throat, pushing him further over the railing, pressing his slashed back against the cold metal.
‘This is the end.’
Farukh’s words were calm yet final and he skilfully spun the blade in his hand, pushed Sam’s head back to expose the throat and lifted the blade.
The gunshot echoed through the street like a sonic boom and the bullet blew out Farukh’s left shoulder. The blade instantly dropped from his hand, clattering onto the wooden walkway. Growling in pain, he turned to see Singh stood, the rain welcoming her to the fight with a wet hug. Her arms were extended, the gun held expertly between her fingers, the barrel smoking from the shot.
As Farukh turned to charge at
