by Matt Hilton
She couldn’t see the clippers he began closing around Po’s little toe, but she saw Po fight his bindings to escape whatever was in the sadist’s mind. Tess took the last couple of hurried paces over the threshold, was about to shout at Dom to halt, and that was when Pinky exploded through the ground floor in the pickup truck.
Tess jostled for balance. Pinky had warned her his distraction would be loud, but she hadn’t expected him to almost bring down the roof. As it was, the entire building shuddered, and an impact wave buckled the roof. Underfoot the floor shifted, and she saw Dom topple backwards and slide along the tilting floor. She lunged, to grab at Po, but he slid after Dom, his chair skewing around and toppling. He had no idea how close she was to saving him, but then he never was one to wait for rescue. Po kicked out with his one free – bare – foot, using the freeing of that leg in order to twist against his bindings. The chair was torqued out of shape, but it wasn’t enough for him. He fought around onto one knee, then threw his shoulder at the floor. The chair fell to pieces, but the sundry parts were still attached to him by lengths of duct tape. Po pushed up to his feet, wrenching and twisting his wrists and the ripping of his bonds was a shriek to match the one of rage that left his throat.
All of this had taken seconds at most. Down below, Pinky was tearing through the building in a second attempt at razing it. Beyond Po, Dom had found his feet, and he pushed away from a sudden chasm that appeared in the floor, gasping in dismay that he’d almost fallen through it. The big man came fully upright, searching for Po and his gaze barely alighted on Tess before he snapped a look to her right.
It was scant warning, but Tess began to turn in that moment, just as Temperance leapt at her from the dimness of the near corner. The dusky-skinned woman’s face was contorted in a shout of challenge, one that Tess answered as she snapped out a hand to grab Temperance’s wrist. Lucky that she did, because Temperance’s knife was aimed directly at the side of her neck. Temperance grabbed Tess’s opposite hand too, pushing the CZ-75 aside. Deeper in the room Po and Dom yelled challenges and clashed, but Tess had no time to watch them while fighting for her own life.
The floor collapsed at the far end of the room, a thunderous avalanche of planks, support beams and furniture, and dust billowed everywhere. Tess tasted pulverized wood on her lips, and she’d to screw her eyelids to avoid the blinding cloud. She wrestled Temperance away, back towards the corner the woman had launched her attack from, and they thudded against a wall. Tess’s gun went off, a sharp crack between other cracks and snaps. Temperance yelled and in desperation wrenched the gun free of Tess’s grasp. Thankfully it spilled from her fingers too and was instantly lost to them both. Tess battered her opponent’s hand against the wall repeatedly, until her grasp loosened and Temperance dropped the knife. Still in a hand on wrist struggle, they waltzed free of the wall. Tess attempted to trip Temperance, but the woman was too wily, and too wiry, to succumb. In the next second, Temperance wrenched out of Tess’s clutch and grabbed a fistful of Tess’s blonde hair. She yanked Tess off balance and punched at her face with her other bunched fist. Tess felt the impact on her right eyebrow, and a sharp pain ricocheted around her skull. Angered, she entwined her fingers in the other woman’s hair, hanging tightly to a bunch of thin plaits, and for a few seconds they circled around each other, feet splayed, yanking down on the trapped hair while throwing punches like ice hockey combatants.
Tess was furious. This was not a fight she wished to prolong. If only she’d caught Temperance as sweet as she had Nathan Doyle the day before, and knocked the bitch unconscious in the first few seconds! The problem being, she knew her lucky knockout of Nathan was just that, and providence wasn’t smiling on her a second time.
You want to end things, Tess, then damn well end things!
She arched her back, jabbing upward with her knee directly into Temperance’s crotch. It wasn’t a finishing blow as it could be with a male opponent, but hurt savagely at any rate. Temperance responded with a knee to Tess’s belly, but she’d kind of expected it, had hoped that Temperance would follow her lead. While the woman had one leg in the air, Tess looped her right arm under it, yanking upward so that Temperance windmilled her arms, off balance. She’d released her grip on Tess’s hair as she fought to stay upright. Tess also released the captured plaits, but barely moved her fingers more than a few inches. As she released the trapped leg, she grabbed one of the flamboyant earrings and tore it, and part of Temperance’s earlobe free.
Temperance screeched in rage and shock, but Tess could care less. She threw a kick into the woman’s nearest shin, and an elbow into her face as Temperance buckled forward. As the woman fell to her knees, Tess aimed a clubbing punch at the nape of her neck that should have put her down for minutes. However, Temperance was tough, and enraged, and the blows hurt but didn’t finish her. She reared up again, and to Tess’s horror, with Po’s knife clutched in her hand. Temperance ripped up at Tess’s torso.
The steel wrench swung by Mike Toner snapped the bones in the knifewoman’s forearm.
Tess backpedaled, watched her would-be slayer sink down with a moan of agony as she cradled her broken arm across her abdomen. Then she glanced at Toner, whose face was rigid with determination as he shoved Temperance over onto her side, and then swept away Po’s knife with the sole of his shoe. He stood over her, threatening her with the large lug wrench that he shook in dire warning. Temperance paid him little heed; she wept at the pain she was currently experiencing.
Breathless, Tess tore her attention from the woman to Pinky who she saw batter Dom’s arm with a hammer. Po was partly obscured by his friend’s bulk, but even through the swirling wood dust, she could tell he was hurt, but alive. A lump the size of a baseball formed in her throat, and she opened her mouth to call him, but then he shucked loose of the chair parts and duct tape and she knew he wouldn’t hear. His attention was solely on Dom, and would be until the thug no longer posed a threat to anyone.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dom had discarded the sap when he selected the garden shears as his next torture implement. He’d lost those as he fell and then scrambled away from the hole opening under him. He still wore the brass knuckles on his right fist, and though Pinky had struck him with the hammer, it hadn’t caused lasting damage. Dom was mostly fit and strong, whereas Po had been beaten repeatedly, he limped and had one arm wedged against his ribs for support. Blood loss must have weakened him. Dom probably felt he was the tall Cajun’s match in a fight under usual circumstances; injured the way he was, Po wouldn’t last seconds.
Dom rubbed his forearm vigorously a few more times, then grinning in a rictus, he curled his fingers, beckoning Po towards him.
He didn’t know Po Villere.
Like a wild thing, Po was at his most dangerous when he was injured. Ordinarily he would fight with a sense of honor and morality, and if there were rules of engagement would stick to them. Gaining the upper hand, he’d be merciful with his opponent. Here the circumstances were different; here he’d fight as if his life depended on it, because it did. Any blow from those augmented knuckles could shatter his skull, killing him outright or leaving him forever maimed, so here the fight was not dictated by honor or morality and with a single rule: kill or be killed.
Pinky was at Po’s back, so Dom had no way of getting past him to the door. His only way out if he chose it, would be via the collapsed floor that now gaped two or three feet wide in places. He’d bet Dom wasn’t for risking a drop into the void below, for fear he’d end up impaled on a broken support beam. Po limped forward, forcing Dom to crouch or go backwards. He chose the former.
Po formed loose fists. There was little sensation in his left leg from when Dom struck it with the sap, but it felt stable enough. His other leg was fine, but the jagged splinters strewn across the floor were lacerating his bare foot. Rather than numb, his abused elbow was swollen, on fire with nerve pain. He shook it out, though it made little difference.
Maybe he should have allowed Pinky
to kick Dom’s ass.
No, he’d made his abuser a promise and meant to keep it. ‘Welcome to your world of hurt,’ he grated as he moved to close the distance.
Dom lunged, throwing a punch at Po’s body.
Po sucked his gut back, and jabbed the point of his left elbow down into the meat of the bearded man’s forearm. It struck at much the same spot as Pinky’s hammer had a minute ago. The pain that flared through Dom’s arm was commensurate to the worst pain ever! Dom cried out, shrilly. His arm went entirely numb, and he withdrew it protectively, cupping it across his abdomen. Ignoring the resulting pain in his elbow, Po swung and battered the knuckles of his right hand an inch or so above Dom’s outer knee. The big man staggered, and Po steadied his feet as he watched fear well in Dom’s eyes.
With Dom’s arm and leg injured, they were almost on a par for the remainder of the battle. The knuckleduster gave an unfair advantage, but only if Dom could land it. Time, Po decided, to level the field a little more, and bust up the thug’s face as a match for his own. Po sprang, throwing straight punches, piston-like, at the bearded chin and face. He avoided the bald dome of the skull, because there the bone was generally tougher than any fist. Instinctively, Dom threw counter punches, but they lacked strength or direction. They didn’t trouble Po. He swayed his upper body, avoiding Dom’s clubbing fists. Then he planted his weak leg, stepped into a kick and thrust his bare foot into Dom’s midriff. Dom went down on his butt, skidding on the down slope. He panicked, slapping at anything he could reach before gravity could snatch him through the hole in the floor.
Po took a moment to check over his shoulder. Pinky clutched the hammer still, looking as if he’d happily take over and bash in Dom’s skull. Po squeezed him a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve got this, brother,’ he promised.
He searched for Tess. She was in the open doorway to the hall, one hand braced on the jamb, unsure of the floor’s integrity. She was right to be wary. Under his feet it bounced and sprang with each step. They met gazes, and Tess tried to imbue her love for him across the intervening space; he wanted her to know he regretted not bringing her in on his plan to bait the bad guys in their lair. Thankfully it didn’t matter now; she was here, she was unhurt, all was as well as it could be … for now. Another quick glance showed him Mike Toner standing guard over the downed woman, and right then, Po had no idea who’d put her in her place.
Scrabbling noises alerted him. His attention snapped back to his opponent. Dom, on hands and knees was scuttling, trying to get around Po. Po checked his destination and spotted an overturned plinth. There was a rag of chamois leather next to it, and Dom’s sap. Was that what he hoped to get his fingers on? His brass knuckles had proved ineffective against a mobile Po; did he truly think an extra few inches of reach would turn the tide of the fight? Po was tempted to let Dom reach it, but Pinky was having none of it.
‘Nuh-uh, no way, no how, you cowardly piece of crap!’ Pinky moved with alacrity uncommon in a man of his size, to snatch up the sap and shove it away in a pocket. He backed away, allowing Po the stage again. Dom looked undeterred, he continued scrambling on all fours, and it was a second or so more before Po spotted why. The man had another weapon in the room that had gone unaccounted for. His pistol. It must have fallen off the toppling plinth and slid further down the decline before wedging against a warped floorboard.
Po lunged to intercept Dom. The floor gave another heave, and something beneath it gave way. The surface dropped from under Po’s feet. He skidded, with no control of his destination, and checked up against Dom. Dom turned the pistol he’d managed to grab on Po and pulled the trigger.
Skill rather than luck saved Po’s life. He struck with the side of his hand at the barrel just as the gun fired, and the bullet went through his deltoid muscle as opposed to his throat. The wound could prove serious if the bullet had struck bone, or one of the major nerves or arteries serving his arm, but in that second Po gave it no concern. He grasped down on the barrel of the pistol, shoving it aside, as he jammed his stiffened fingers in Dom’s face. He hoped to blind the shooter, if not permanently he’d make do with temporarily: enough time at least to disarm him would do. Po didn’t try any fancy move, merely levered back and up on the gun barrel, trapping Dom’s index finger against the trigger guard, and wedged it against metal – because he still wore the brass knuckles – and the gun couldn’t be trained on Po again. Dom’s finger was being crushed and his ragged scream hinted at his agony. He might have been relieved when Po reversed the pressure and easily stripped the gun from his grasp. His relief would be measured in nanoseconds, because in the next instant he’d understand how woefully outmatched he was by the man he’d have made his victim. Dom cried out for leniency as Po drew back his hand to land another blow to his bruised face.
‘Buddy,’ Po growled, ‘I’ve only just gotten started with you.’
He slammed Dom under the chin, and the beard did nothing to lessen the blow. Dom’s teeth clacked together, and his eyeballs rolled in their sockets. He sagged. Po shoved him away and Dom reached for the wall for support. It wasn’t near. He fell on his side and began rolling, loose-limbed and senseless. The hole in the floor beckoned. Po was tempted to let him fall.
He handed back Dom’s pistol to Pinky, then limped after the unconscious man. Now that the heat of the battle was waning, his moral center was reaffirming its control over him. He couldn’t let the man fall to his death, to land impaled like a fish on one of the broken shards below. He grabbed Dom’s jacket before he reached the precipice and tugged him away.
‘You’re a better man than I am, Nicolas,’ Pinky told him. ‘I’m not sure I could be so merciful, me.’
‘I only want to beat on the fucker a little more.’
Po waited a beat before offering a smile at his joke.
Pinky exhaled sharply, then, raising his eyebrows, he offered the hammer.
Po ignored the gesture, as Pinky knew he would. Pinky tossed the hammer away, but slipped Dom’s pistol into the safety of his belt. Po grasped Dom’s jacket tighter and dragged him back towards the entrance hall. ‘See if you can find any of that duct tape, will ya?’ he asked of nobody in particular.
Mike Toner and – more importantly to Po – Tess had their prisoner under guard. Unbeknown to him, Tess had discovered where the CZ-75 had fallen during her struggle with Temperance, and recovered it. She only loosely aimed it at the woman, but Temperance didn’t appear fit to launch an escape attempt: blood leaked from a torn ear, and she cradled an arm, her features ashen and slick with sweat. Po threw Dom down near the door. The floor creaked ominously.
‘Whose idea was razing the building to the ground?’ he asked.
Tess aimed a nod at Pinky, who had already thrown up his hands.
‘Guilty as charged, me!’
‘It was a bit extreme.’
‘As was your ridiculous plan to act as bait,’ Tess added.
Pinky answered for both men. ‘But you have to admit, it got results.’
‘It could still get us all killed,’ Tess remarked. ‘Let’s get out of here before the rest falls down.’
Between Tess and Toner, they jostled Temperance up between them, Tess aiming a dire warning in her good ear about what would happen if she tried anything stupid. In fairness, Temperance barely had the will or strength to support her own weight. Toner had to assist her as she began the descent.
Dom was twice the woman’s weight, and neither Po nor Pinky fancied helping him down. They each grabbed an ankle and dragged him along the hall, intent on pulling him down the stairs on his back – if his skull happened to bounce off every step on the way down, then so what?
Nobody had answered Po’s request to find the duct tape. Therefore, Dom wasn’t yet secured. Neither was he as unconscious as he pretended. As they reached the top of the stairs he suddenly kicked out, pulling away from Po. Pinky still had his fingers on his ankle, but was in a bad position, wedged by the doorjamb, and Dom was able to yank his foot free. He began
scrambling to escape, coming up to his feet by clawing at the walls. A door flew open under his touch and he tumbled inside the room. Po went after him, followed seconds later by Pinky.
They were in an office of sorts, with a desk and chairs and large windows. Dom tried to put the desk between them, and Po suspected there could be a hidden weapon in one of the drawers the man clawed at. He didn’t wait to find out. He vaulted the desk with one hand propped on top for support, and kicked out with both feet. Dom took the impact high on his chest, and was thrust backwards. All that was there to cushion him was a window. It shivered under his weight, exploded outward and Dom flipped through the gap with a cry of terror.
Po had to steady himself after sliding off the desk. In the moment he had given neither his injured arm nor busted knee a thought, but the agony blossoming in each were swift reminders. He staggered to where Pinky was already leaning out over the windowsill.
‘Is he dead?’ Po asked.
Pinky said, ‘He’s got a head like Humpty Dumpty, him.’
Po peered down, grimacing. Dom hadn’t fallen too far. It was far enough that when his skull struck the concrete it had shattered as easily as an eggshell. Pinky was correct, there’d be no putting Dom together again.
‘Hmmm,’ Po murmured. ‘This might take some explaining to the cops.’
‘What’s to explain? Distraught at the thought of going to prison, he took the coward’s way out, him.’
‘I’m not sure that story will wash,’ said Po.
Pinky studied him up and down. Po, bloodstained and bruised, with only two fully working limbs between four, looked fit to drop. ‘Nicolas, there’s not a cop on earth would believe you had the strength to knock a big dude like him out of a window.’
