As Charlie headed off to find an alternative entrance, Victoria met the eyes of each member of her team in turn. She looked at her closest friends—her brothers and sister—and smiled. They had been with her through thick and thin, and they’d follow her to the ends of the Earth. These were some of the most dedicated people she’d ever met—not to mention the most skilled. It was for this reason that she knew her team would succeed. Four mercenaries stood between her team and victory, and X-Ray refused to be stopped. They would do anything in their power to make sure that Mason had not died in vain.
“Ready?” was all she said.
Her team nodded their assent and checked their weapons. They knew
exactly
what they were doing and they knew how to do it better than anyone else in the world. X-ray Team was widely known for their success, and the Company paid them well to be the best.
“Let’s do this,” she said, before breaking cover and running directly through the frame of the shattered window. Gunfire erupted from multiple weapons in front of her, but she was able to take cover behind a large potted palm, free from injury. Weapon in hand, she looked back toward her team. Kalani and McCoy were still outside, but Jen-Jen had made it to cover behind the potted palm opposite hers. Thankfully, she made it without being hit. She flashed a quick thumbs-up at Victoria before refocusing herself.
Thinking quickly, Victoria leaned out from behind the palm and fired off five quick shots, giving McCoy and Kalani the support fire they’d needed to reach cover next to Victoria and Jen-Jen.
“We’re in the shit now,” Kalani pointed out as a volley of return fire slammed into the planter and surrounding walls.
“Only way out’s through ‘em,” Victoria sighed, before slapping a fresh magazine into her pistol.
Kalani grinned and lifted his left pant leg. Attached to his ankle was a small cylindrical object, roughly four inches long and about the diameter of a D battery. He removed it and held it out to Victoria. She recognized it instantly, but had not known that he’d brought it along.
“Flashbang!” she whispered, laughing aloud in triumph—this was
exactly
what they needed to turn the firefight in their favor! “You big, beautiful Hawaiian bastard—I love you!”
Victoria energetically kissed Kalani on the forehead as she graciously accepted the small stun grenade from him.
Strangely enough, aside from the volleys of gunfire that had erupted from the Chaos mercenaries when X-ray Team had forced their way into the room, the lobby was eerily silent. There was no heavy breathing, no metallic clatter of weapons being checked or shouted threats—just deafening silence. Victoria found it slightly intimidating that her enemies could operate so smoothly under pressure; they had supreme self-control and a remarkable amount of training and experience.
X-ray could—and would—handle them; these mercenaries were still only mortal. Sure, Victoria’s team was loud, brash and unorthodox, but they always got the job done. Chaos Squad had been doomed from the moment they’d taken up arms against her team—they were just too confident in themselves to know it.
Jen-Jen and McCoy looked toward Victoria for orders and she held up a closed fist—the signal to remain in place for the time being. Victoria gestured again, indicating she would flank the enemy from the left after throwing the flashbang. Kalani would provide covering fire and McCoy and Jen-Jen would cut down the soldiers stunned by the blast—she didn’t need to explain this part; it was something her team had been trained to do. It was a tactic that had worked countless times in the past, and Victoria was confident that it would work this time—even against such well-trained opponents.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Victoria pulled the pin from the flashbang and held it in her hand. She knew that this particular nonlethal weapon had an internal five-second fuse, so she cooked the grenade for three seconds before throwing—a dangerous but effective way of guaranteeing that the intended targets wouldn’t have time to clear the area. After an internal three-count, she lobbed the grenade over the potted palm and it landed directly next to a pillar that she’d seen a Chaos mercenary take cover behind. Covering her ears and closing her eyes, she waited for the deafening blast of the stun grenade.
It came almost instantly—a loud
bang
resonating off every surface. To the unsuspecting victims, the concussive blast and blinding flash would effectively stun anyone within fifteen feet.
With no hesitation, Victoria shot to her feet and launched herself from cover, just as her team members opened fire on the mercenaries. Sliding across the smooth floor, she made it behind the lobby’s leftmost desk unscathed. It concealed a single mercenary, and his attention had been momentarily drawn away from her, toward the blast. Raising her weapon, Victoria put two rounds into the center of his back, knocking him from his feet and causing him to land face first on the hard floor. She heard her team’s weapons continuously barking from behind cover—and also heard the intense cry of agony as another Chaos member went down under the heavy fire rained down by her allies.
Sticking her head out from around the desk, she noticed that no attention was on her—the team had been successful at diverting the mercenaries and her flanking maneuver had, as far as she could tell, gone unnoticed. From her position, she could only see one Chaos member, but she couldn’t risk a shot from this distance—a miss would surely draw attention to her—so she decided that she needed to move closer. Suddenly, Kalani was at her side—taking cover behind the same desk.
Ignoring the big Hawaiian, Victoria once more took flight from cover, staying low and heading for the lone mercenary. At the last moment, the mercenary wheeled upon her and brought his weapon to bear. Fortunately, she was prepared for the move. Her sidearm already held before her, she squeezed off three shots mid-run—two missed wide to the left but the third punched a neat hole through the man’s upper chest. Dropping his weapon, the man clutched at his wound futilely, even as Victoria put a final round through his eye. Wasting no time, she slid into cover behind a pillar near the dead man. Ten feet from her new position, she spotted another mercenary lying in a pool of his own blood. Jen-Jen and McCoy had racked up at least one kill.
The lobby was silent aside from the sound of her final shell casing rolling to a stop on the floor. Had the four mercenaries all been killed? It was a possibility, but something made the hair rise on the back of Victoria’s neck. Something just didn’t feel right. She decided to hazard a look in the direction in which she assumed the final mercenary must be. What she saw caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise into her throat.
The final mercenary stood next to one of the potted palms with a pistol placed firmly to Jen-Jen’s temple. A second pistol swept the area, pinning Kalani and McCoy behind their respective covers. Jen-Jen looked livid, infuriated that she’d been caught. Looking closely, Victoria recognized the mercenary. It was Masters, one of the men who’d abducted Charlie the night before. Slowly, Victoria rose to face him. She leveled her gun at his head, the iron sights hovering over his eye.
“Everyone drop your weapons,” Masters demanded.
“Can’t do that,” Victoria called back.
“I’ll paint these fucking walls with her brains,” he threatened. “You want to lose another one? Drop your weapons.
Now
.”
From behind nearby Victoria heard Kalani and McCoy set their pistols on the floor. She knew that these men were determined to protect their friend, but she had no intention of letting this asshole gain any leverage. She kept her weapon raised, leveled directly at Masters’ head.
“She knows the risks,” Victoria bluffed. “Shoot her. But if you do, there will be no way out for you. It’ll be just like signing your own death warrant. You don’t want that—there are other options.”
“Fuck you,” he shouted, and cocked back the hammer on his pistol, pressing the barrel harder into Jen-Jen’s temple. “I ain’t rotting away in fucking Gitmo. Now, for the last time, drop your—”
Victoria shot him.
Masters’ head snapped back violently from the destructive impact of the .45 caliber slug and he went down hard on the floor, pistols skittering away in either direction. Jen-Jen looked shaken, but completely unharmed—Victoria’s gambit had paid off.
“Jesus, Vee!” Jen-Jen breathed, an involuntary shiver running through her body. “You could have shot me, you know that?”
“He could’ve shot you too,” Victoria offered, inserting her final spare magazine into her pistol. “Though I’d imagine that you like this outcome a little better.”
Jen-Jen sighed with great relief. The mercenaries in the lobby had been dealt with, and the conclusion was nearing. A great weight was about to be lifted from their shoulders, and the anticipation was so great that it was nearly palpable.
After making sure that all of the mercenaries in the room were dead—and that her team was not—Victoria hurried everyone to the large elevator that would carry them to their final destination. Victoria prayed that Charlie had survived his inevitable encounter with the last remaining mercenary. She willed the lift to move faster as the seconds ticked away at an agonizingly slow pace.
Charlie lowered his shoulder and slammed into Brody Kinney with the force of a professional linebacker. Even though the mercenary was much larger, Charlie easily lifted the man from his feet and drove him hard to the floor. The impact was severe for both men, but Charlie refused to let something as finite as pain interfere with his relentless pursuit of vengeance. The force of the impact violently forced the air from Kinney’s lungs.
Charlie managed three viciously hard blows to Kinney’s face—one opening up a deep gash on the mercenary’s cheek—before the large man recovered enough to throw Charlie from atop him and scramble to his feet. Refusing to allow Kinney to gain even a slight advantage, Charlie shot to his feet and slammed into the man again, but this time the big mercenary was ready. Charlie absorbed a crushing underhanded blow to the abdomen and was knocked back a step.
It was at this point that Charlie realized what kind of fighter he was dealing with.
Kinney decided to close the gap with a well-placed roundhouse kick, and this was enough to tell Charlie everything he needed to know about the man. A kick during any fight—especially one as flashy as a roundhouse—was one of the worst ideas a fighter could have. Kicks expose vital areas and leave the attacker open to counterattacks from almost any direction. For this reason, Charlie deduced that he fought against a man who’d spent his time studying the flashy mixed martial arts techniques that were so popular these days. On television, in a ring with a referee and safeguards against serious injury, kicks look impressive and usually make audiences cheer. In a fight to the death, a kick does no good—only gives an opponent the opportunity to unleash a devastating counter.
With this in mind, Charlie dropped his left shoulder and absorbed the blow with his forearm. The block was successful and it threw Kinney off balance long enough for Charlie to close the distance and use the mercenary’s mistake to his advantage. The failed kick had left the bigger man open to almost any attack Charlie wished to deliver, and he chose the one that was sure to have the most beneficial effect. Open hands cupped, Charlie clapped his hands as hard as he could over Kinney’s ears and the big man screamed in agony as his eardrums burst from the dirty but effective technique.
Blood dribbled from Kinney’s ears as he struggled to maintain balance; Charlie’s attack had seriously hindered his equilibrium. Relentless and tireless, Charlie charged back in for another attack. Kinney, however, seemed to have a good amount of fight left in him and was not yet ready to quit. As Charlie threw another powerful haymaker, Kinney sidestepped the blow and delivered two solid body shots, followed immediately by a fierce uppercut that Charlie was barely able to avoid. As Charlie leaned away, the blow only glanced off his chin, but it was enough to make stars dance in his vision and put him off balance. If that punch had fully connected, he would have certainly been knocked unconscious. He couldn’t afford to let Kinney unleash another attack like that.
“Not bad, Walker,” Kinney offered, wiping the blood from his ears. “You fight cheap, though.”
“I fight
smart
,” Charlie corrected, circling his opponent—matching Kinney’s each step with an identical one of his own.
“You’re in over your head. You can’t win,” the big man taunted.
“Big talk coming from the guy with blood pouring out of his ears.”
Kinney snarled in anger, but he did not charge as Charlie had suspected he would. Instead, Kinney looked over Charlie from head-to-toe, appraising him. Although Charlie desperately wished to end this fight, he was grateful for the chance to catch his breath. The violent exchange had taken a lot out of him and he wasn’t certain how much longer he could last. His chest heaved with every breath but he noticed that Kinney was having a harder time than he let on—sucking in wheezing, labored breaths. Charlie decided to capitalize on the mercenary’s barely-masked exhaustion.
Stepping in and throwing another hard punch toward Kinney’s already injured cheek, Charlie was surprised when the mercenary moved faster than expected and swatted the blow away with his left hand. Just as quickly, Kinney’s right fist crashed into Charlie’s gunshot wound, sending white-hot spikes of searing agony throughout his entire torso. Charlie cried out, feeling his ribs cracking from the impact of the well-placed blow. The detective staggered back several steps before regaining his balance.
Kinney had an evil glint in his eye, and Charlie at once knew what the break in the action had been for. Kinney had been searching Charlie for any signs of weakness, and he had found a winner in the gunshot wound—his labored breathing had been nothing more than an act. Satisfied with himself, he studied the wounded detective—smiling as he watched Charlie struggle to draw breath.
Charlie tried to overcome the crushing agony that was beginning to dominate him. He could not lose—not now. No amount of pain would stop him from avenging his wife’s assault and rescuing his family. Drawing in the largest lungful of air that he could, Charlie stood and faced his attacker one last time. He knew that he couldn’t withstand another one of these clashes—he needed to end the fight
.
Fortunately, the mercenary was smiling—satisfied with himself. His overconfidence would lead to his downfall.
“Let’s get this over with so I can get back to your wife,” Kinney taunted. “I haven’t had my fun with her, yet.”
Fueled by rage, Charlie raised his fist once more, feigning the act of throwing the same punch as he had just seconds ago—and Kinney fell for the bait. Exactly as Charlie had predicted, Kinney took a step forward with his left leg in an attempt to shift his center of balance forward in anticipation of the blow. At the last moment, Charlie shifted his weight, lifted his right foot and stomped as hard as he could on Kinney’s leading knee.
The mercenary didn’t stand a chance.
Charlie’s foot drove the mercenary’s kneecap backward—past the natural angle—and hyperextended the joint as far as possible. Kinney cried out as his shattered knee gave way beneath him with a sickening
crunch,
and he fell on his back on the floor, still screaming from the torturous agony of his obliterated knee joint.
Pain further fueling his rage—and rage driving his strained muscles to their limits—the vengeful detective fell upon the massive mercenary.
Charlie rained down one devastating punch after another directly into Kinney’s face. Each consecutive punch connected more solidly and achieved more satisfying results than the one before. He felt the cartilage in Kinney’s nose give way; heard the mercenary scream more intensely; watched the blood flow freely from several places—yet he did not relent. The hardened soldier cried out in vain, seeking mercy, shrieking syllables that his ruined mouth could no longer form into words.
Three more blows and Kinney lost consciousness. Four blows after that, the monster’s face was no longer recognizable—and three more blows after that, the mercenary finally ceased to breathe.
Charlie’s right arm hung limply at his side, completely numb from overexertion. He was certain he’d broken bones in his hand, but he could neither feel nor see any injuries—his right fist was coated in a thick layer of Kinney’s blood and he stared at it in horror as he still straddled the dead mercenary’s chest. Until this moment, Charlie hadn’t realized that he’d been screaming.
Recoiling in horror, Charlie scrambled away from the dead man and sat for a moment with his back against the couch, trying to regain a shred of composure—he’d just beaten a man to death! His mind was having trouble coming to terms with what he had done. Never had Charlie Walker believed that he was capable of killing a man with his bare hands, but the threat to Meghan’s life had brought out a whole new aspect of himself that he’d never known existed. He’d known that he would do anything it would take to protect his wife, but he hadn’t realized that he could ever be pushed so far.
Staring at the grisly sight of the mercenary’s corpse in complete shock, Charlie cleaned off his hand using a blanket that had been draped over the arm of the couch.
A slight moan issued from somewhere nearby and he jumped, momentarily startled by the irrational thought that Kinney was not actually dead. After a split second, he remembered that Meghan still lay in the chair by the window. He shot to his feet and leapt over the couch, rushing across the room to Meghan—all thoughts of his recent actions forgotten for the moment.
He dropped to his knees on the floor before her and stared at her angelic face as he gently took her hands in his. He leaned in close.
“Meghan,” he said, softly. “Baby, it’s me—it’s Charlie. Please wake up. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here now.”
For a moment, Charlie worried that his wife was not going to regain consciousness, but much to his relief, she stirred and slowly opened her eyes. She was bruised and bloodied, but he’d never seen such a beautiful sight as the bright smile that spread across her face when she recognized him.
“Charlie!” she screamed, easing herself to her feet.
Charlie struggled to his feet and the two embraced tightly. Even though it had only been twenty-four hours since he’d last seen her, it felt like he’d not laid eyes on his wife for an eternity. He’d fought his way through hell and finally reached his love.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
To hell with Dante, and to hell with Spencer Holloway—Charlie had never once given up hope—not for a moment. He
knew
that he would be reunited with his wife, no matter what it took.
His face inches from hers, Charlie wiped away her tears and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips—anywhere he could. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He pulled Meghan to his chest, squeezed her tight, once more. He never wanted to let her go—never again.
“You came for me,” she sobbed. “I knew you would come for me.”
“I’d die before I let them have you,” he said. “I love you.”
She echoed his words and buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Charlie remained silent; simply holding his wife and feeling his spirits lift with every breath he took. He wished that he could remain here with his wife forever.
But....
Violet and Katie were not in the room. Abruptly, he pulled away from Meghan, mentally kicking himself for not realizing that his daughters were not present.
“Baby, where are Violet and Katie?” he asked, his words rushed and frantic.
“Holloway took them,” she said, her voice shaky. “He took them next door several hours ago. We’ve got to get them!”
“No, you’re staying here. I’ll handle this.” He turned and retrieved his Walther from the ground.
“Charlie, you can’t do this alone!” Meghan cried.
Suddenly, a female voice arose from the opposite side of the room, startling both Meghan and Charlie.
“He won’t have to,” the voice stated.
Charlie spun around and looked toward the doorway at the source of the voice.
Framed by the gentle light from the hallway, Victoria Holloway stood with her arms crossed, flanked by the remaining three members of X-ray Team.
The cavalry had come.