Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(71)

“Take off your jacket,” Fadden said, walking back. “Slowly.”

“Your boss won’t want me hurt. Call him. He’ll tell you.”

“Jacket. Or left kneecap. You decide.”

I did as he ordered, sliding my left arm free and wondering if the tool kit in the pocket gave it enough weight that I could knock him off-balance.

But as I swung the jacket around with my right arm, he lunged forward and propelled a foot into my stomach just below the Kevlar. Heat drilled through my gut, and I retched. He jerked the jacket free and stepped back, then went through the pockets. He found my phone, keys, and the tool kit. He slid the phone into his pants pocket and threw the rest in the same direction he’d kicked the guns.

He sank back to a squat and gave me a dead smile, showing those clean white teeth I’d seen on the recordings. His eyes and face remained as devoid of emotion as a blank sheet of paper.

“I don’t often get a lady caller,” he said. “Especially a hot one.” With his left hand, he tugged a pair of metal handcuffs from his pocket. “It’s a dilemma. Should I rape you first and then kill you? Or would you rather I did the shooting first? Or”—he flexed his free hand—“maybe I can change methods and give you both. Choking does heighten sexual pleasure.”

I curled around the pain chewing through my stomach.

“Let him go,” I managed. “I’ll stay. I’ll do what you want.”

In the white light, his eyes glittered. “Can’t decide? Then I’ll make the call. Lift your wrists and hold them together.”

“Can’t.”

“You won’t like it if I do it for you.”

I raised my arms.

“Together,” he snarled.

I did as he said.

“If you so much as twitch, I’ll shoot you.”

He rose and approached me from behind. His sneakered feet squeaked on the tiles. When I felt the first brush of metal against my skin, I grabbed the handcuffs and pulled, jerking him forward.

As he toppled, I rolled, throwing myself clear. His gun went off, the bullet whizzing by so closely, I felt the mortal whisper of its passage.

I kept going, pushing through on my momentum. I made it to my knees, got one foot planted.

A blow on the left side of my skull made my brain catch fire. The room tipped sideways, and I hit the floor. Pain flared across my ribs as I landed. He outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. I couldn’t let him get on top of me. I put my palms on the floor and tried to regain my feet.

Fadden’s shadow approached, followed by the man. His shoes stopped a few inches from my face. Then he kicked me in the ribs, hard, and I was on my back.

“You’re a slow learner,” he said.

The pain in my ribs was paralyzing. I couldn’t breathe. Dark spots blossomed in my vision, and my head felt like it was full of wet sand. I knew I should get up—There’s something bright and strong in you again—force my limbs to move—Haven’t seen it since before the war—to fight, but the floor rose around me, cool and inviting, and I drifted toward a promise of no fear, no pain, a promise I wanted more than anything to be real.

Someone moaned. And I was back in the room, ribs on fire, something bright leaking back into my muscles.

Fadden set the gun on the floor. I reached a hand toward it, and he laughed before he straddled me, then lowered himself to his knees.

My fingers kept scrabbling for the gun.

“It’s a foot beyond your reach,” he said. “Just so you know.”

He grabbed my wrists, shoved my hands up above my head, and shoved a knee between mine. I bucked under him and jammed my trapped leg into his groin. He shifted his weight, forcing my leg back down, and his body came between me and the lantern.

“Clyde!” I screamed. As if he could do something. As if he could come through reinforced glass.

But Fadden jerked around in surprise, maybe thinking I’d seen something. His grip on my wrists eased, and I twisted free.

He whirled back, his hands grabbing for mine.

My thumbs found his eyes. Pushed.

He let out a roar, his hands going to his face.

I threw him off, scrambled to my feet. I sprinted for the door, sliding into the wall as the room tried to upend itself. The floor shook with footsteps. Something clamped around my ankle, and the floor rose and slammed into my face.

My breath left my body.

Fadden dragged me back into the room. Dropped his weight on me. Worked a knee between my thighs again.

A breeze rushed into the room. The trash swirled along the walls.

“Parnell?” Sarge’s voice.

The weight lifted, and Fadden flew into the wall, propelled by a burst of tan and black as Clyde hit him like a wrecking ball and sank his teeth into Fadden’s flesh.

Fadden shrieked.

I rose to my knees. The working part of my brain remembered the electric burner I’d spotted in Fadden’s makeshift kitchen. I started crawling.

From somewhere, Sarge was yelling, swearing he’d shoot the dog if the dog didn’t get out of the way.

I yanked the burner’s cord free and crawled back across the floor toward where Clyde had Fadden pinned down. I caught a glimpse of Sarge trying to get a bead on Fadden.

Fadden’s right arm flailed free. He still had his gun. Clyde shook him like a doll, but Fadden kept working to bring the gun around.