40. NICK

One of Arkady’s goons snags my pack before I can reach it. He tosses it to the green-haired woman, who rifles through it.

“Nice shit,” she says. “Knives, concussion grenades, pistols. You were ready for a full-on war.”

“I had to be prepared,” I say. “But it doesn’t have to be a war if you don’t want it to be.”

“Oh, I’m all about war,” she says as she tosses the pack back into the vent. “My name’s Darya, by the way. And I’ve still got your fucking mutt’s teeth marks on my wrist.”

The two men rush me on either side as Darya heads straight up the middle. I can’t take all three on at once – I manage to fend off the man to my right, but the one to my left gets that arm and Darya lands a stomp kick to my chest.

I go down hard, the wind knocked out of me. When I look up, I see Arkady wrestling Storm out of the bay toward the hall that leads to the main bar area. I clamp down on my tongue to keep from screaming her name. I can’t show weakness.

“I been looking forward to this,” Darya says, whipping the machete in a figure-8 pattern in front of her as the two others back away. “You got any idea how much street cred I’ll have as the one who took down Nick Chernenko?”

“I got shot in the head and lived,” I wheeze as I regain my breath. “And you’re bringing a knife to the table?”

She grins. “That was Arkady’s fault. He wanted to be the one who took the shot. I would’ve put it through your eye.”

I stagger to my feet and take a defensive stance as she circles me slowly.

“You really think Arkady will let you take the credit?”

“We’ll work it out.”

I glance at the two musclemen. “You going to let her steal your thunder?”

Neither of them says a word. They both cross their hands in front of them like a couple of Secret Service agents.

All right, then. So much for divide and conquer. This will just have to be conquer. Three times.

Darya feints with an overhand blow aimed at my clavicle, pulling back at the last second. I stand my ground without flinching. She takes that as her cue to try the actual move and lets out a sharp yell as she swings the machete down again, only on the opposite angle.

I pivot to my left and the blade goes sailing through the air where I used to be. Darya’s made a critical mistake by throwing all of her weight behind the move. I take advantage of it by sticking my foot in front of hers, tripping her to the concrete floor.

To my left, I see one of the goons, a guy with a blond crew cut, slowly slide a Bowie knife from the inside of his boot. I’ve rattled him. The other one keeps watching the action with a stoic look on his face.

“Last chance,” I say as Darya scrambles to her feet. “Walk away.”

The drugs in her system take over and suddenly her eyes are manic as she rushes straight for me, stabbing forward at chest height. I pivot at the waist, but not before the razor-sharp blade glides across a part of my right pectoral muscle. I feel a searing heat, followed by pain.

“First blood,” she taunts.

Then she does something I’ve never seen before: she runs her finger along the blood on the blade, then licks it off with a grin. The goon with the knife is even more put off than I am, but the other one keeps his stone face.

I can’t let her get to me. The more time I spend with these three, the farther away Arkady gets with Storm. I have to make a sacrifice fly if I want to bring this runner home.

I lumber forward with a looping blow, only to have Darya counter it, easily grabbing my right hand in her left. She twists inwards, driving me to my knees as I grunt in pain. As she does, she raises the blade in the air with her right hand, ready to bring it down on my exposed neck.

She fully expects to lop off my head. What she doesn’t expect is for me to suddenly drive forward with it, catching her full in the groin. The blade connects with my back but can’t penetrate the Kevlar under my jacket.

Still hurts like hell, though.

I make it to my feet as Darya staggers, machete still in hand. But it’s too late – I easily yank the blade away and drive my foot into the inside of her right knee. I hear a satisfying snap and watch her crumple, screaming, to the ground. A second later my boot connects with her skull like an NFL kicker punting on a fourth down.

Then my side explodes in pain. I spin to see the blonde holding his Bowie knife, my blood dripping from the blade. He starts to circle slowly, leaping forward to stab and driving me backwards.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” I say. “But I will.”

We dance for what seems like forever, each moment taking me farther and farther away from Storm. The pain throbs in my side where the blade sliced me, and I finally decide I have to try a head-on attack if I’m going to end this.

Just as I’m about to move forward, I see the goon’s attention flicker to something behind me. I hear Darya’s labored breathing right before she strikes, and instinct moves me in an arc as she swings the machete with both hands like a baseball bat. I catch her arm on the fly and add my momentum to hers, sending the blade whistling through the blonde man’s abdomen.

His eyes goggle as he drops to his knees, his guts spilling onto the floor in front of him.

Darya barely spares him a glance before she turns back to face me. There’s no rational thought behind those eyes now. She tries one last weak thrust with the machete, which I easily sidestep. An instant later, I have control of the weapon.

She glares at me with those coke-fueled eyes and I realize she’s not even feeling the pain from her injuries.

“You’re never going to stop, are you?” I say.

She grins madly, blood pouring from her gums over her teeth.

“All right then.”

I make it quick, but it’s still bloody.

Finally I turn to the other musclehead, who hasn’t moved since the fight started.

“What’s it going to be?” I sigh. “I need to go. Now.”

He steps to the side and waves his hand towards the door that leads to the hallway and the nightclub beyond.

“I was just here as insurance,” he says.

I blink at him, uncomprehending. He picks up my pack and tosses it to me.

“Better get a move on, sir,” he says. “Oh, and Uncle Mookie says hi.”

I feel a grin spread across my face as I pass him, despite the pain from my fresh wounds.