Chapter 32

 

“Now,” Beast roared at Belinda before he launched himself at Martinez.

He had only two thoughts in his head: kill the brothers, save Belinda. He hit the man in front of him, one punch to his jaw, another to his stomach. Angel kicked out, hitting Beast in the knee, and making him slip in the mud. Instead of getting back to his feet, he used his position to tackle Martinez. He grabbed him around the waist and pummelled his kidneys until he was certain the guy would piss nothing but blood if he survived this fight.

Something hard struck Beast’s back and sent him to his knees, forcing him to release Martinez. Beast glanced behind him to find the other brother wielding a length of wood. Movement brought his head back around, just in time to see Angel kick at his head. Beast ducked, rolled and punched at the guy’s crotch. Angel howled and toppled.

Diego roared and rushed him. Beast rolled out of his way, in time to avoid the plank aimed at his head, but not fast enough to miss the kick to his ribs. He felt a crack and knew they were broken.

Angel struggled to his feet, and Diego rushed Beast again. There was a blast, sending all three men flying. Beast landed hard on the edge of the crater he’d told Belinda to hide in. He shook his head, fighting against the ringing in his ears and the disorientation that overwhelmed him. He had to get up, had to be ready. Glancing into the pit, he saw Belinda reach for the ladder leaning against the steep muddy side.

Good.

He had to fight the urge to rush to her aid. Fear for her was a taste in his mouth, one that made him nauseated. She was running on fumes, fighting pain and fever, terrified she was going to die. Beast had to trust that she would do as they’d agreed, because the Martinez brothers were bearing down on him.

He pushed away from the side of the crater and jumped to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs, knowing that showing weakness was tantamount to conceding the fight. He was born for this. He’d been fighting on the streets of Atlantic City since he was barely a teen. And every single one of those fights, every professional match, was practice for this one.

He clenched his fists and charged for the nearest brother. Diego was unsteady on his feet, still shaking his head to get over the blast. Beast took him to the ground, straddling him while he punched his face, over and over again, until he went limp beneath him. The bastard was still breathing. Beast lifted his fist, knowing a punch to the throat would finish Diego off, when something slammed into his shoulder, sending him back into the mud.

It took him a second to realise he’d been shot. Blood poured from his arm, but he didn’t feel the pain. There was too much adrenalin in his system to allow it. He flexed his fist. It still worked. He’d worry about the bullet wound later. With a grunt, he clambered to his feet as Angel came at him. His arm was out in front of him. In his hand was a gun.

Diego groaned and rolled to his side. It was enough to distract his brother, who turned to look at him. Beast dove behind the burning news van, got to his feet and ran. Shots rang out, pinging against the burning metal, as Angel fired wildly. Beast saw Angel pull the trigger and nothing came out. He tossed the gun at the flames. Beast ran at him, pushing him into the middle of the clearing.

It was a whirl of fists and feet. Beast reeled at the blows, but didn’t feel them. That would come later. If he survived. He punched at Angel’s head and watched the blow hit true. Blood spurted and his head swung wildly. Beast didn’t wait. He followed the punch with a death blow to the throat, crushing Angel’s windpipe and sending him to the ground.

There was no time to gloat over the body. Beast whirled to face the other brother, only to stop dead. Diego was on his feet and pointing a gun straight at Beast.

“This is for my brother, you bastard!” He pulled the trigger.

There was a moment when time stood still. Beast watched shock spread over Diego’s face. The gun fell from his hand as his other hand pressed to his stomach. Bright red blood mingled with the mud covering him. He looked down at the blood and then crumpled, knees, shoulders, face hitting the ground.

Beast swung around to see who’d fired, and his heart stopped. Belinda was lying face down, half out of the crater. Her arm was stretched out and there was a gun in her hand. Beside her lay the body of the guard who’d watched over them. His weapon was missing. Belinda had used it to save Beast’s life.

Beast ran for her, sliding in the mud as bullets whizzed around him. He didn’t care. He didn’t know who was firing or why it was happening. All he cared about was Belinda. She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. He couldn’t see her breathing. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t.

“Belinda!” he roared as he slid to his knees in front of her.

He pulled the gun out of her hand, put his hands under her shoulders and dragged her up and out of the pit. She lay limply in his arms. Beast tried to wipe the mud away from her face, but there was too much on his hands. He was only making it worse. Frantically, he felt for a pulse and almost broke into tears when he found one. She was alive.

He clutched her against his chest, holding her there for a second, just one second before he had to pick her up and run for the trees.

“Beast,” someone shouted.

Beast snatched up the gun he’d taken from Belinda and aimed in the direction of the voice.

“It’s the cavalry, asshole. Try not to shoot us.”

Through the smoke billowing from the burning vehicles, two overly large forms appeared. They strode towards him, materialising like angels sent from heaven. Grunt and Harvard.

“I hope to hell you’re real,” Beast said. If this was a hallucination, he was going to shoot someone for sure.

“Good to see you alive, buddy. I knew the jungle was no match for the Beast.” Harvard crouched beside him. “How’s she doing?”

Beast looked down at Belinda. “Not good. She needs a doctor.”

Harvard pressed his comm link. “We have the targets. They’re breathing. We need immediate medical attention. Somebody want to commandeer one of those pretty press choppers?”

Beast looked up at Grunt, who towered over them, a gun in each hand, scanning their surroundings for a threat.

“What took you so long?” Beast said.

Grunt looked down at them and grunted. Harvard and Beast grinned at each other as the sound of rotor blades filled the air. Beast held Belinda tight. His mind was made up. He was never letting her out of his sight again. There was no way he’d be able to live through it. Belinda Collins was stuck with him, whether she liked it or not.