Page 96 of Deception & Desire

Max’s smile only widens. He steps forward, closing the gap between us.

I can see the confidence in his eyes—the kind of arrogance that comes from knowing you’ve got the upper hand.

“You look like hell, boss,” he taunts, gesturing to my chest. “That little souvenir I gave you slowing you down? You should’ve stayed in your hospital bed.”

I lunge at him, slashing low with my knife, but he’s ready. He sidesteps, the blade missing his gut by a fraction of an inch. His fist connects with my ribs, and pain explodes through my torso, nearly driving me to my knees.

“See? You’re too slow now. Too weak,” he circles me like a predator. “Is Teo Vitale so desperate that he’d send an invalid to do his dirty work?”

He kicks my knife from my hand, sending it skittering across the floor. I barely dodge the next blow, using his momentum to drive my shoulder into his chest.

He staggers back with a laugh. “No, that’s not his style, is it? You’re here on your own. Couldn’t resist the temptation to play the hero, could you?”

I freeze as Max levels his gun on me, a damning sense of deja-vu hammering through my burning chest.

“What’s that little wife of yours going to think when I tell her you were too weak to save her?”

The fire is unbearable. The pain is intolerable. I close my eyes and breathe, praying that my legs will hold out.

I’m a fast draw, but with Max’s gun already pointed at my chest…

“You’re pathetic, Leon. I hope you die knowing it was all for nothing.”

My legs give out.

Bang.

The bullet soars over my head, where my torso had been a fraction of a second before.

I don’t think. I just draw.

The angle is terrible, and I’m unable to compensate entirely for my body’s awkward trajectory. But the trigger is pulled just before I black out from the pain of hitting the floor.

I wake up several seconds later, wishing I were dead. There’s blood seeping into my shirt from where my wound is leaking. I’m out of time.

But there’s something else. A choking noise only a few feet away.

With the remainder of my strength, I turn my head to find Max stumbling to his knees, hands clutched to his throat.

The bullet had shot clean through it.

His eyes are wide with shock as he collapses into a pool of his own blood.

It’s done.

I close my eyes and go back to sleep.

Hours pass. Minutes. Seconds. I can’t be sure. Nothing has any meaning but the brutal pain in my chest and the dizzy, spinning that keeps me pressed to the floor.

“LEON!” Dante’s voice cuts through my unconsciousness with the brutality of a gong.

My eyes snap open to the sight of him crowding over me; medical kit splayed open at my side. Vaguely, I’m aware that my shirt has been removed, and my chest feels tighter again.

“YOU STUPID BASTARD!”

“Maybe,” I concede with a groan as I prop myself up on my elbows. “But I shot Max in the throat.”

“You could have died!” He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation.

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