Cruz
I surveyed the room, eyes jumping between points of interest. There was little disturbance, except for a pool of congealing blood near the center of the room.
Good girl. Don’t make it easy for them.
A window was open, the curtain billowing softly in a cool breeze. Whether they’d actually entered through the window, I had no idea. Could be a fire escape there, I guessed.
I heard the sound of heavy footsteps out in the living room, heading slowly into the corridor…
Boots. A Russian. He was armed. I wasn’t.
I waited for my would-be assassin to enter the bedroom, turning slowly as I did so.
I suppressed the burning rage that was growing in my chest, switching it off like a light. I breathed deeply, rolling my shoulders to loosen the muscles.
The Russian turned the corner, his gun extended. He was a few feet away from the entrance.
Clever bastard.
He moved slowly. Professionally. Probably was an ex-KGB.
“Ah, Dmitry.” I recognized him from the plane.
He grinned viciously as he saw the recognition in my face. His left eye was half-closed, the other staring at me down the sights of his silver Tokarev pistol.
“If you don’t give me some useful information, I will kill you slowly.” His face turned dark as he stepped closer, his gun inches from my heart. “Talk now, American.”
I was relaxed, composed. Motionless. “Okay. I’ll talk. I have some information that you might find important.”
His eyebrow raised as he looked into my eyes and I saw the gleam of excitement on his ugly face. I could read the thoughts crossing his small brain: Kill the American and return with vital information.
Now was my chance.
I had been standing in a powerful fighter’s stance, my right foot slightly forward, weight favoring my good left knee. In an instant, I swiveled my torso to the right, my heart moved out of the line of fire in a fraction of a second. I knew a gunshot then would be painful and probably collapse my lung if he was quick, or merely graze my ribs if I was lucky.
But I had caught him off-guard. My hand shot to his gun arm like lightning, pushing the weapon away from my body. The gun bucked, gunshot ringing loud. A bullet sliced through the skin of my left arm, feeling like nothing more than a scratch from Alexandra’s nails.
I pushed my powerful thumb into his palm, savagely forcing the gun from his grip. As was usual in these situations, he focused on holding onto the gun. As soon as it was out of harm's way, it was next to useless, especially against someone like me. If I was holding the gun, I would have dropped it, surprising my assailant. I’d then follow it up with either a headbutt or palm to the bridge of the nose. Then I’d draw out my combat knife. It would have been over in two seconds.
With his focus on the gun, I turned my back to him, pulling his arm over my massive shoulder. I pulled his palm down to my waist, using my shoulder as a pivot. His elbow shattered with a sickening crack. He screamed in agony behind me.
I followed up with a backwards elbow into his ribs, violently cracking his bones. He reeled back from the blow, but I wasn’t finished with him yet.
Pivoting on my feet, I laid into him with fists like iron. Two, three, four, five body blows to the chest and abdomen. Ribs cracked, collarbone smashed.
He collapsed to the floor.
I stood over him, breathing steadily as he writhed in pain below me.
“Oh, yeah,” I spat, “as I was saying, I’ve got some information for you.” I then kicked him savagely in the gut. “If you don’t tell me where she is now, I’m going to break your fucking legs. And then I’m going to strangle you to death.”
I wasn’t really going to eat him, but I thought it might help the persuasion.
“You fucking American! Fuck off!” he cried, delirious with pain, half laughing and half crying as he spat a torrent of filthy-sounding Russian words at me.
I jumped into the air, my full weight coming down on my left foot onto his knee. A satisfying crack and a loud pop resounded through the room, followed by his impossibly louder screams.
“Last fucking chance!” I said, barely checked rage building within me. An image of Alexandra formed in my mind, being dragged away against her will.
The Russian sobbed in front of me. Pathetic.
I went back into the room to grab his gun. I checked the chamber. Loaded. On the way out of the building I coldly shot him between the eyes.
Then I heard the sound of distant sirens.
“I told you that you wouldn’t be fucking breathing if I saw you again. Same goes for your friends. They’re all dead men.”