Marcus crept out of the back door, head low, Cobra gun in his hand. The sound of his own footsteps crackled up from beneath him, and he knew his adversary could hear him too. The man was almost certainly alive and in hiding, and the fact that he wasn’t firing on Marcus told him that he was either out of ammunition or that Marcus himself was still out of view. But with no way to tell where the other man was, Marcus could only creep forward, grip that gun, keep his wits about him, and hope for the best.

His palms began to sweat, the gun slippery in his hands. But he reframed his grip and moved forward, muscles tense along his back and shoulders, neck rigid, hairs standing up on the backs of his arms.

Thwack!

Marcus turned too late, the other man’s foot smashing into the side of his hands and knocking the gun away, landing somewhere unseen. And there was no time to look for it.

The man drove Marcus back with a series of vicious kicks, his body spinning to deliver several attempts at a good strike. But Marcus kept backing up, remaining just out of the assailant’s reach with amazing skill and grace and even more luck. Marcus dodged the kicks that he could and blocked the ones he couldn’t until the stout trunk of a royal oak tree pushed up against him from behind.

Marcus had retreated as far as he could, and the man kept advancing, one potentially lethal strike after the next.

But Marcus ducked deftly out of the way and the attacker smashed one of his hands into the tree trunk. He cried out, but Marcus wasn’t sure if it was from pain or determination or a bit of both.

It didn’t matter.

Marcus hit him hard in the gut with a kick from the side, causing him to stumble back. Marcus took full advantage, charging him and ramming him in the gut. The two men toppled toward the trunk of a big ceibo tree, the attacker barely remaining on his feet until Marcus smashed him against that thick, reedy trunk. Marcus’s opponent released a stunned pocket of air, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

He threw a series of hard punches into Marcus’s gut, the hard sheet of muscle bruising, holding up against the barrage, but not for long. Marcus pulled the man away from the tree and then threw him back into it, the backs of his head and shoulders smashing hard against the bark.

But he came back at Marcus hard, a flurry of karate chops directed at Marcus’s head and neck. Marcus dodged and ducked, but he could feel his luck running out as his rival advanced with even greater speed and determination. He called out his battlecry, as much to disorient Marcus as to fuel his own sense of strength and resolve.

The first strike to land on Marcus’s head hit in his right temple, pressure streaming through his brain. But Marcus had taken shots before, and even a second blow in the wake of the first was unable to topple him. Marcus blocked the third blow with a windmill maneuver, advancing on his opponent but unable to turn the tables.

The assailant advanced farther, hitting Marcus twice more in the face and once in the gut, bending the big man over before an uppercut sent him reeling backward.

“You cocky American bastards,” he said with a grinning grimace. “I don’t know what Shin Lu sees in you lying frauds, you weak, stupid people.” Another two strikes sent Marcus snapping to the side. “And you’re the cream of the crop, the best they’ve got? I was told to beware of you, Mr. Pike. And I can say, you did reveal your skills…at running away and hiding, like the little woman you run around with.”

Another spat of kicks and punches between the two men marked the shifting balance of power, Marcus launching an effective defense and then pressing an offense when he could. But the man was quick and deflection seemed to be a specialty, his years of training even better than Marcus’s. That slight advantage was about to result in Marcus’s death, as well as Tia’s, the Guapo family, perhaps countless others.

“No wonder she came to me,” the man said, judging the position of his next assault. “It’s destined to be this way. We’ll take you down by air, by sea, by land…by tooth and claw, by foot and by fist…” A hard kick sent Marcus flying back, landing hard on the ground. “The West will fall, and we’ll be the cloak of night which envelops you!”

Marcus rolled out of the way and he pursued him, kicking and stomping and laughing. “I’ll smash your skull, round-eye, and then your woman’s…but not before I make her my bitch!”

Marcus spun, rolling toward the crazy man and grabbing his foot. With one massive shove, Marcus had him flipping backward. Marcus was quick to leap upon him, pinning him down, his hands craned around the assassin’s neck. Marcus’s fingers pressed in tight, teeth gritted as the man tried to pull his death clutch away.

“I live in Europe, you thug!” Marcus smashed his head down against the ground. “But I was born in Michigan, and I don’t like people talking shit about America. We can do it…but you need a lesson!”

Marcus smashed his forehead down into the thug’s face, blood leaping up from his nose. A second blow did even more damage, the man screaming out and throwing the last of his strength into a final attempt to survive and even prevail.

The disgruntled man flipped Marcus up and over him, both men scrambling to their feet to ready for the other. He charged Marcus and they stumbled backward again, this time Marcus’s enemy driving their direction. They rammed the ceibos trunk again, the man pushing the air from Marcus’s lungs. He slammed hard again, the bones of Marcus’s spine near being crushed. Several hard blows to Marcus’s gut were almost too much to resist, and when he turned and flipped Marcus over his shoulder again, the big man hit the ground face up.

For the last time.

“Hey,” Tia said, grabbing the attacker’s attention. He spun to see her with one of his dead partner’s guns in her hands, leveled directly at him. “Say hi to Shin Lu for me…in hell.”

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!

Tia put a tight cluster of shots into his chest, sending him stumbling backward. He landed on the ground face-up, legs and arms twitching as the last of his angry soul leaked up and out of his gaping wounds.

Tia fell to Marcus and cradled him, arms around his shoulders, his head, pulling him close to her bosom, just where he wanted to be.