hip and I
Eyes burning with tears, I turned and ran down the empty hall, every step ringing out the same word:
I knocked on door after door. I kicked and screamed and no one answered or screamed back at me to get lost. For some reason the floor was deserted and the knowledge I was running out of time weighed heavily on me.
Stairs! A way out. Hand on the knob and shoulder to the door, I rammed it open. Shouts echoed from below and the thuds of hurried footsteps came my way up the stairwell. No good. Up, however, seemed clear. I guess I didn’t have a choice.
Thudding up the stairs, one floor then two … and I made the decision to keep going, back to the floor I’d just come from, reckoning they wouldn’t search for me there. Soon, panting and bleeding, I came to what I believed was the floor I had fled. Next to the steel door was a sign that read 53.
I put my ear to the door and heard nothing, so I went through. Nothing. All quiet. Through the door into unfamiliar surroundings. Left or right? I flipped a mental quarter and went left.
Good thing because I quickly came upon blood smell, the source of which was smeared on the wall. I located the suite by the blood still wet on the door handle.
I cursed then crossed myself. The door was locked and I had no key card, but the point became moot because down the hall, around the corner, one more of the Sicarii boys came into view. Options flickered through my mind in less than a second, moments before his eyes would rise to see me standing by the door.
The best option was also the most dangerous, but I was sick of running away. So I ran
Muscles cried in agony and bruised bones added their voices to the cacophony of pain that rang in my ears. The Sicarius looked up as I raced toward him. Almost in slow motion he went for the pistol Velcro-ed to the chest of his black one piece, a look of surprise flitting briefly across his face.
Closer, fifteen feet and his hand reached the pistol.
Ten feet … the weapon ripped free with the sound of paper tearing.
My feet left the carpet as I dove at a dead run, the pistol rising to meet my eyes.
Click.
I hit the man full on, shoulder in his midsection, the pistol with safety on flying from his hand as I drove him backward to land in heap, both of us kicking and scratching, punching and biting.
We rolled, grappling, the Dagger Man’s teeth buried in my shoulder, and I screamed in hot pain as his bicuspids tore into soft tissue. My knee came up, but he expected the play and twisted so I hit his thigh. A calloused knuckle rammed my jaw, followed by an elbow that had me seeing stars. That elbow made a comeback and I turtled, letting it hit the top of my skull. I sagged as my neck compressed and the Sicarius screamed.
I rolled away from the noise as the Sicarius kept at it, holding on to what I assumed was a broken elbow. People always said I was hard-headed and the proof lay moaning on the hallway carpet.
I kept my back to the wall, using it to support me as I stood shakily, every nerve in my body firing at once. The Dagger Man finally came to grips with his pain and also came to his feet, a grimace of hate on his long youthful face.
Sweat stung my eyes as I watched him reach into a pocket with his good hand and pull out a butterfly knife, which he opened one-handed with the ease of constant practice. My foot lashed out but he dodged the halfhearted attack with ease. The assassin might have been injured, but he still had skills.
So I dove for the pistol, hoping that my battered body would prove quick enough. It didn’t. The Sicarius kicked, catching me in the stomach-folding me in half and wrenching my midsection-then he fell on top of my writhing body with thrust a knee to the kidney that momentarily paralyzed my body in torment.
But I had the gun.
He grabbed my arm and through the haze of suffering that clouded my eyes, I saw the light of understanding reach him. Despite his one-handed grip, I was stronger. As breath struggled to enter my lungs, my thumb stroked the safety and I pulled the trigger. Twice.
Blood. Brains. Bone. All sprayed upwards and settled back down to coat my face as the body of the Dagger Man settled on my chest.
Oh, Lord, forgive me.
Sobbing for the dead man, mumbling prayers for his soul, I clumsily searched his body, my tears wetting the black one-piece. My eyes strayed to the small, round holes on his forehead, knowing that the exit wounds had torn the back of his head off. Eventually I found a key card in a hip pocket. No use trying to hide the body, the hall gave plenty of evidence as to what had happened, the walls being decorated in red and pink. Sluggishly, I trod toward the door to the suite. My hands were on fire with pain; metal slivers and friction burns had tattered the palms into raw meat. My blood slicked the pistol, dripping down the barrel.
Heart thumping madly with guilt and relief, I swiped the key card at the door. I needed to get clean. I needed to tend my wounds, needed to rest, if only for a while. The door opened and I stepped inside.
A man stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the night. At the sound of the door shutting behind me, he turned.
Boris smiled.
Oh, hell.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Morgan
“Did I forget to mention that this idea of mine is seriously insane?” I shouted at Cain over the din of the rotors. Fear ate at my guts.
Night, three thousand feet in the air, the Bell 430 helicopter remained stable as the pilot waited for us to jump. Flashbacks to another night jump fifteen years ago kept flickering before my eyes, but this time we would jump into a city rife with thermals and strange wind shears that could flip a parachute topsy-turvy in an instant, not to mention that it was cold as hell, The black sweater, Kevlar vests, and heavy black denim pants offered some protection.
“A young man with your history of rash behavior and rebellion against the most powerful criminal organization in history thinks
Right, that’s me, Mr. Surprise.
Six hours earlier Cain, Maggie, Alan and I had stood together in the dark warehouse, a single bare bulb from a small lamp providing a ring of light that perfectly illuminated the round table it rested upon. Alan had handed out Kevlar vests and provided a spread of weaponry large enough to take out the Latin American country of your choice.
Alan handed a laptop to Cain. “Here’s the schematics to the hotel, boss.”
Cain regarded the computer for a brief moment. “Once again you do not fail to impress, my boy.”
“You won’t need that, man,” I commented as I picked up a.45 and checked the sights. “All we need are the top three floors, 53 to 55. Everything else is the ordinary rich and famous.”
“You’re cute when you’re all authoritative and shit,” Maggie smiled as she struggled out of her chainmail and shrugged into her vest, her large axe resting on the table. I couldn’t help it; I stared at her charms out of the corner of my eyes. She caught the look and gave me a satisfied smile that heated up all my naughty bits.
Man, I’d been without proper company for far too long.
My eyebrows danced in her direction. “The Sicarii own the place and I made sure to learn everything I could about where Julian would hang his hat.”
Cain replaced his sunglasses with thick, black goggles, briefly revealing his disturbing Husky eyes. “What do you suggest, then?”
“A roof access would be best. There will be guards, but with our magic and a little surprise, we can take
