Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Adrenaline surged through Quinn’s veins, every sense laser focused on Hackett as the man eyed him, his knife flashing red in the strobing light. He twirled it a couple times, mouth lifted on one side, face scrunched into a sneer.
Quinn waited, weight on the balls of his feet, joints loose, his knife clasped in his left hand. They circled each other once, the rock scuffing slightly beneath his boots before Hackett grinned, launching himself at Quinn.
A blink, and the asshole had already covered half the distance, nothing more than a blur amidst the crimson light.
What seemed unnaturally fast for a guy topping six-five, likely weighing two-eighty.
The kind of muscle mass that made Quinn look inconsequential.
Hackett stepped into Quinn’s personal space, knife lunging toward him.
No sense trying to block it, not with the sheer momentum behind Hackett’s attack.
The force hidden in the man’s strike. Instead, Quinn deflected his arm with a sweep of his right hand as he slid left.
A quick pivot and a flick, and he landed a slice on Hackett’s triceps — sheared through part of the muscle as the guy’s momentum carried him forward.
Hackett stopped mid-step, ignoring the blood blossoming on his sweater. As if he hadn’t even felt the hit that would have completely disabled even a diehard fighter. Instead, he pivoted on a dime, backhanding Quinn across the jaw.
The blow connected so hard, Quinn swore he’d just been hit by a cinder block as he flew backwards, crashing against a frosted, liquid nitrogen pipe. The freezing metal seared through his vest and tactical shirt, stealing his breath as he regained his balance — shaking off the strike.
Hackett didn’t rush him, just stared at Quinn through narrowed eyes. He twirled the blade, again, shaking his head. “I thought you’d have more fight in you, copper.”
Quinn wiped the blood off his mouth, secretly wondering if the asshole had broken his jaw, before he rolled his shoulders, reset. “We’re just getting started.”
“You can’t beat me. All you’re doing is buying your girls more time to breathe.” Hackett flicked his finger over the tip of the knife, indifferent to the resulting nick across his skin. “Though, they won’t be doing that for long, either.”
Quinn ignored the taunt, focusing on his surroundings. Hackett was right about one thing, Quinn would never beat the guy in a toe-to-toe fight. While he wasn’t that much smaller, leaner, the chemical cocktail coursing through Hackett’s veins gave him an almost godlike advantage.
He snickered. “What’s wrong, Taylor? Did I break you already?”
“Are we gonna talk or fight, asshole?”
Hackett grunted, his blade carving out clean arcs through the air as he crossed the room in what felt like a heartbeat.
Quinn parried the first few strikes, using another arm bar and kick to knock the guy down.
He recovered insanely fast, swiping at Quinn with the tip of his blade, scoring a long slice across his vest.
Quinn jumped back, catching Hackett’s next strike in the cross of his arms, holding him back just long enough to boot his knee, toppling him sideways. Another kick and a jab, and the man tumbled backwards, rolling to his feet with blood oozing down his face from a cut along his cheek.
The bastard didn’t even bother wiping it, charging at Quinn like a damn rhino.
Quinn deflected the blade but took the hit, waiting until Hackett grabbed at him with his left hand before locking on the guy’s wrist and dropping all his weight, using the other man’s hold to toss him over his shoulders.
Hackett landed hard, breath wheezing out for a moment before he rolled. Quinn got in a quick kick, buying himself enough time to scramble up a set of metal stairs to the catwalks.
His boots clanged on the steps, the narrow runs snaking across the upper level between the massive generators and transformers, the grated metal flooring casting distorted shadows on the ground. He backed into a section that limited Hackett’s range, waiting for the man to follow.
Heat poured off the machinery, beading his skin with sweat, the air thick with exhaust and diesel. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, watching as Hackett stared up at him, back rigid, chest pushed out. The bastard sighed, as if having to climb the stairs was an inconvenience.
He took them slowly, dragging his knife along the railing as he climbed. Sparks showered across his forearm, dancing in the air like fireflies, each hollow thud a reminder of all Quinn had to lose. That if he didn’t beat Hackett, the creep would hunt down Scout.
Not that Scout couldn’t hold her own, and without the worry of bringing the entire mountain down on top of them, she’d probably cap the fucker before he got close. But Quinn knew she’d never abandon Brea to save herself or get a better sightline, and he knew Hackett would capitalize on that.
Hackett reached the top step, tapping the rail with the knife. “I’ll admit it, you’ve got some fancy moves, cop. They teach you that in rookie school?”
“Nope. Learned them from my girlfriend.”
Hackett laughed. “Good. Maybe I’ll be able to have a bit of fun before I gut her.”
“You’d better hope you don’t have to face her. She’ll eat you alive.”
“Then, I guess I’ll have something to look forward to because you’re out of real estate, Taylor.”
Quinn readied his stance, letting the bastard charge at him, the man’s boots ringing off the metal grating. Hackett closed the distance, his massive shoulders taking up the entire catwalk. Lunging at Quinn, he tried to stab him in the chest.
Quinn jumped, grabbed an overhead pipe, and caught Hackett in the throat with his boots as he swung through.
Hackett flew backwards, hitting the metal with a resounding thump.
Quinn dropped onto the catwalk, straddling the guy where he’d fallen onto his back, landing a punch to his jaw.
Hackett’s head snapped to the side and Quinn cocked his arm, throwing his next punch, when the bastard simply caught Quinn’s fist, plowing his other hand into Quinn’s ribs.
A distinct snap echoed in Quinn’s head, crushing pain spiraling up through his ribs and into his chest. The agonizing pressure stole his next breath as fire erupted beneath his skin, fraying black dots at the edges of his vision.
Sneering, Hackett used his grip to toss Quinn over his shoulders — sent him tumbling along the catwalk.
Quinn tried to suck in a breath, failed, scrambling to his feet just as Hackett grabbed him by the arm.
The asshole wrenched it sideways until a sickening pop cut the air, more pain exploding through Quinn’s shoulder.
Hackett pulled him in close, his breath washing over Quinn’s face before he threw him against the wall, spinning so he had Quinn’s throat pinned beneath his muscled forearm.
He flexed his biceps, cutting off Quinn’s air.
His lungs burned, the surroundings dulling into a numbing haze, all that pain starting to wane.
He wasn’t losing. Not like this.
Lifting his knees, he used all his strength to kick off the wall, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Hackett’s head hit hard, Quinn’s weight helping to drive it into the grating before he rolled, staggering to his feet. Backing up, he took stock.
Pain crushed his chest, what felt like more than a couple broken ribs, and his right arm hung low, the dislocation sending a jolt of stabbing pain through his shoulder whenever he moved — hell, breathed. Not that he could gulp in much oxygen, his ribcage compressing with every labored attempt.
At least, he still had his knife, the blade stained with Hackett’s blood, not that the man seemed to notice. He grunted, rolling onto his hands and knees before rising, more blood dripping down the side of his neck.
Quinn groaned inwardly. The guy wasn’t even breathing hard.
He looked as if he’d just woken from a restful nap while Quinn had to bite the inside of his cheek just to stay on his feet — make it look like he still had some fight left in him.
He tried to blink away the dots he’d been seeing, but they were gathering strength, closing in from all directions now.
He pictured Scout half-carrying his sister along the tunnels, endlessly searching for a way back to him. One he knew she’d find because she was hands down the best damn tracker he’d ever met. If he hadn’t finished Hackett before she came bustling through another door…
Hackett pressed his hand to the back of his neck, then stared at his bloody fingers as he huffed. “Now, that hurt. Not as much as I’m sure your shoulder and ribs are killing you, but enough that I’m impressed.”
He twirled his knife, casting light spots across the rock. “You’re decent, Taylor. And if I wasn’t more evolved than you, you might actually best me.”
Quinn laughed, not that it was funny. “Evolved? You’re nothing more than a lab experiment. An anomaly. There’s nothing special about you.”
“Believe what you want, but I’m the future. How men are supposed to be. No pain. No weakness. No hesitation. Just pure, raw power.”
“Right up until Pryce pulls your daily patch allowance. Then what?” Quinn spit out a mouthful of blood.
“Face it, you’re nothing without the drugs.
And sooner or later, she’s going to get tired of you and leave you behind.
Just like everyone else in your life. Abandoned.
Or maybe Finch will discover you’re working both sides, send a squad of men just like you to take care of business. ”
Hackett’s mouth twitched, a hint of a snarl curving his lips. “There aren’t any other men like me, chum.”
“You sure about that? Because my sister has the same ability. I’m betting there are more like her out there. Hell, maybe I’m like her. Got a spare patch? We can finally have a fair fight.”