Ember #3
As I yank free from Hyland’s grip, Joe watches me stroll towards him. I don’t miss the way he assesses my gait, cataloguing each move before enacting his own advance across the chess board.
“How about the person who killed his greatest ally?”
His eyes narrow. “And who might that be?”
“Antonio Gael.”
“What do you know of it?” he asks after a beat.
“Though Gael’s death has been good for business, I’m sure it was a blow for Madden to lose the man who gave him so much. Truthfully, I’ve enjoyed thinking about it.”
From the way his head cocks, it’s clear Joe’s turning my revelation over. Madden was in the wind long before the time I found myself face-to-face with the object of my nightmares. I doubt he knows who struck the killer blow.
“He doesn’t care to at least meet me?” I step closer still, goading him.
“Am I supposed to believe you left that crime scene behind?” He chuckles. “I’ve seen the photographs. Bloodbath isn’t quite an accurate enough term.”
“You weren’t impressed?”
“I’m not sure impressed is the word my employer would use.”
I’m within touching distance. Close enough to gouge his fucking eyes out with my fingernails. The distraction worked—dangling the truth in front of him like a tasty morsel to be devoured.
“Perhaps I was wrong about you, 768.”
My mouth stretches in a wild, savage smile. “You know, I really enjoy when people underestimate me.”
He’s prepared for a strike. In this scenario, who wouldn’t be? But the blow never comes. Instead, I bend at the knees to sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending poor Joe flailing onto his back.
The fall causes his jacket to gape open. Inside, he has one of our stolen guns. With a well-placed kick to the head, Joe starfishes on the floor, granting me a window to swipe the weapon and take aim.
“Hy!” I scream. “Get to the others!”
It’s a distant shot across the pool. Luckily, I was taught by the best. My first bullet sinks into the thug looming over Blaine, taking out a kneecap. Enough of a distraction for Blaine to gather some strength and launch his own attack.
Our team leader’s captor watches the scene unfold. For a petrifying second, his finger hovers over the trigger, a breath from reacting. But I’m faster.
“Warner!”
He doesn’t rouse to witness the success of my well-placed shot. Blood spurts from the guy’s shoulder, disabling his shooting arm and causing him to yowl louder than a banshee.
There’s no time to follow the sounds of commotion behind me where Hyland’s temper has exploded, razing his way through the ranks to reach our teammates. Joe and I have unfinished business.
“You bitch,” he wheezes, cowering below me.
“I’ve been called a lot worse.”
Booting him with all the pent-up rage I can channel, something cracks against my leather-coated foot. Once. Twice. Three brutal hits.
And little old Joe wails his head off.
Checkmate.
My steel-capped boots stomp on his ugly face next, causing blood to erupt in a magnificent discharge of lava. The wet sounds spewing from his mouth are music to my ears. As he writhes in a helpless puddle, I holster the gun then plant my rubber sole on his throat.
“Tell me again how stupid we are,” I mock in his idiotic voice. “Go on. Say it.”
All the pathetic worm can do is hiss and wheeze, blood spilling from his nose down to his open mouth. Damn, those gurgles are disgusting.
Not even his hands clawing at my foot have enough force to deter the crushing weight on his windpipe. Eyes bulge. Nostrils flare. Blood spits and bubbles. I watch his face turn purple then slacken, second by second.
“Thanks for your time, Joe. We’ll be sure to return your body to your employer.”
“H-H-H-H…”
“What was that? Something to say?”
Only spit and gore respond.
“Hm, I didn’t think so.”
The satisfaction of watching his eyes grow dim is interrupted by a solid weight slamming into my side. I’m flung into the air, my spine crashing into the floor where the impact shakes my teeth.
What feels like a pile of bricks weighs me down. Only the bricks are encased in skin, clothing and a damned fabric mask. Using momentum to carry us over the tiles, our bodies roll in a rapid-moving spiral.
A fist attempts to pummel my ribcage but only manages to bounce off the protective layer under my clothes. My hips jackknife upward. The blood boiling inside of me grows even hotter when I can’t toss this bastard off; he weighs a goddamn tonne.
The next punch rockets into the side of my face, nearly blinding me. In desperation, I seize the mask concealing my attacker and yank, revealing stubbled skin just begging to be scratched.
Hot, sticky blood wells under my nails when I rake them over the dead weight pinning me. He howls in anger, throwing another flailing hit that catches me under my jaw. Dizziness washes in faster than the rising tide.
BANG.
In an instant, the scene changes.
BANG. BANG.
On top of me, a shower of blood and bone slices through the small space between us. Under deep nail scratches, lips fall open and pupils blow wide. The fourth bullet tears straight through the side of his neck to splatter my face in stickiness.
In sheer shock, I gasp for air. “Oh, God.”
Without being able to hold them upright, the asshole’s limbs slide to his sides. Giving the lifeless body a shove, I wrestle my way to freedom, letting my attacker’s corpse slump to my right.
It takes a second for my vision to settle, blurred by adrenaline and pain. Across the pool, figures swarm, tossing bone-cracking punches left, right and centre. Hyland’s bulk is clear among them.
No gun. He’s not the shooter.
To my relief, Blaine has another assailant trapped in a headlock. The pair stand over Warner’s unconscious body, my black-eyed mobster not letting anyone get close. He seems to be guarding Warner with his life.
Also no gun.
Then who fired…
Internal confusion is swiftly cut by the blur of a new attack, incoming fast. The final remaining guard, holding our victim hostage, has abandoned his post to launch himself at me, leaving her curled up in a sobbing ball.
I’ve barely found my knees when he whips out a roundhouse kick. Ducking in time, I crawl over the tiled floor, bringing myself close to the pool’s edge. I’m going to toss this one in, headfirst.
When he widens his stance then launches in my direction, I let myself roll, headed straight for the water. We collide somewhere near the edge, but rather than letting my death spin be halted, I thrust both legs up high at the last moment.
My feet connect with the thug’s midsection, propelling him through the air before he can smack into me. He sails towards the pool. I’m about to tuck my knees when a hand snags my ankle.
“No!” I screech.
Velocity isn’t on my side. I’m dragged along like a dead fish. Much too quickly, icy daggers stab into my body, cold water quickly closing over my head. The anchor of his sinking body drags me in deep.
Chlorine sears my eyes. The water is murky, chemical-mired. Struggling limbs spasm in the confusion, and my own red hair floats around me. Still, the death grip on my ankle won’t relent.
Help me, I want to howl.
All I release are precious air bubbles.
Clamping my lips shut does little to alleviate the desire to scream. Already, my lungs are burning, over-exerted from the fight. There isn’t enough oxygen left to curb the instinct that could very well kill me now.
Through squinting eyes, there’s almost enough visibility to make out the man’s blueish face, inches from mine. We’re still caught in a tangle. I lash out underwater, aiming for his mouth.
When the left hook hits, it works perfectly. His mouth opens on instinct, and I watch him suck water in faster than a sink hole. The iron grip on my ankle slackens as he splutters and panics.
Kick, Ember. Move!
Suddenly, every body part weighs more than concrete. No matter how hard I convulse in the water, the distance to the surface only grows. Rippling and unattainable.
Jagged pain spikes across my temples. The slow burning in my lungs has spread into an out-of-control wildfire. My capillaries constrict, veins bulging, red blood cells screaming for sustenance…
A thunderclap.
Something enters the water.
Whirlpools form around the object that pierces the surface. Broad, powerful strokes carry it towards me. As I sink deeper, two strong paws form handcuffs around my wrists.
Oxygen deprivation must have set in. Axel can’t be here. Someone else is cutting water like air to propel us both upward. When my head breaks the surface, I cough and splutter, battling to clear my lungs.
“Breathe, come on.”
Faintly, I’m aware of being wrenched from the water, cool air scalding my skin as a hard surface slams into my spine.
“A-Ax…? What the…?”
“Not quite, but you’re welcome.”
The sounds of fighting have ceased all around. I think I hear Hyland’s deep boom, but it’s obscured by my heaving. A harsh touch turns me over, then water shoots from my nostrils.
The cough that tears out of me scrapes my oesophagus with a knife’s edge. Through streaming eyes, I peer up at the soaked figure at my side.
“Nope,” I warble. “N-Not Axel.”
“Haven’t we met like this before?”
Floppy brown hair hangs over honey-rich eyes, far too sharp and calculating to belong to Axel. He isn’t here.
“I just ruined three guns to drag your ass out of a pool,” Gunnar seethes, swiping water from his face.
“What a-are you doing here?”
He casts a look around the room, nodding at someone.
“Saving your asses. I’m the backup.”