Page 74 of Azrael

He stiffened, then turned, his face a mask of controlled surprise.

“Azrael,” he said, my road name sounding strange in his accented English.“I should have known you’d come yourself.”

“You should have stayed away from my town,” I replied, keeping my gun trained on his chest.“Away from your sister.”

A flicker of genuine emotion crossed his face at the mention of Mazida.“My sister belongs with her family, not with American bikers who don’t understand our ways.”

“Your ‘ways’ make her little more than an animal, a slave,” I said, feeling the old rage bubbling up.

Balal waved a dismissive hand.“Mazida dishonored our family name by running away with that boy.Consequences were necessary.”

“Consequences?”I took a step forward, fighting the urge to put a bullet between his eyes right then.

His expression hardened.“Our business is not yours, American.Step aside, tell me where she is, and perhaps I will let your club survive what comes next.”

I laughed, a sound without humor.“You think you’re in a position to make threats?”I gestured with my gun.“On your knees.”

Instead of complying, Balal lunged for something on the desk beside him.I fired, the bullet shattering the wooden surface inches from his hand.He froze, then slowly straightened, a cold smile spreading across his face.

“You won’t kill me,” he said with certainty.“Mazida would never forgive you.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”I kept the gun aimed at his center mass.

“Are you?”His smile widened.“Family is everything to my people.”

“Really?Is that why you pretty much sold your sister to the highest bidder?Your sister is a person.Not currency.”

Balal’s hand shot out, knocking the gun aside as he closed the distance between us.I recovered quickly, blocking his follow-up strike and countering with a punch to his solar plexus.He grunted but didn’t go down, instead grabbing my wounded side and digging his fingers into the injury.

Pain exploded through my body.I head-butted him, feeling cartilage give way as his nose broke under the impact.He stumbled back, blood streaming down his face, giving me enough space to bring my gun to bear again.But he was faster than I expected, kicking the weapon from my hand before I could aim.The gun skittered across the floor, disappearing under a filing cabinet.

“Not so confident without your weapon, are you?”Balal wiped blood from his face, his smile now a crimson smear.

I drew my knife.“Don’t need a gun to kill you.”

He laughed, pulling a blade of his own from inside his jacket.“In my country, we give boys their first knife at twelve.How old were you when you first held one, American?”

“Eight,” I replied, circling slowly.“My mother’s boyfriend tried to hit her.I put it through his hand.”

Something like respect flickered in Balal’s eyes before he lunged, his knife slashing in a practiced arc toward my throat.I stepped inside his reach, catching his wrist and driving my own blade toward his kidney.He twisted, my knife slicing through his expensive suit but missing flesh.His knee came up, catching me in the thigh with enough force to numb my leg momentarily.

We broke apart, both breathing heavily, reassessing.Blood dripped from a cut on my forearm where his blade had found a target.Balal’s suit was torn in several places, but he seemed largely unscathed.

“You fight well,” he admitted, “for a biker.”

“You fight like someone used to letting others do his dirty work,” I countered.

Rage flashed across his face.He attacked again, this time with less control.I used his momentum against him, sidestepping and sending him crashing into the desk.Wood splintered under the impact.Before he could recover, I was on him, driving my fist into his kidney, then his jaw.My knife hand came down, aiming for his shoulder to disable his arm, but he rolled at the last second.My blade embedded itself in the wooden desk.

Balal kicked out, catching me in the stomach.Air rushed from my lungs as I staggered back.He seized the advantage, tackling me through the office door onto the factory floor beyond.We hit the concrete hard, his weight driving what little air remained from my body.Stars danced across my vision as my head cracked against the floor.

His hands found my throat, thumbs pressing into my windpipe with practiced precision.I bucked, trying to dislodge him, but he had the advantage of position and weight.

“I should thank you,” he said, his face inches from mine as he squeezed.“You’ve made this personal.Before, I only wanted my sister back.Now, I’m going to enjoy watching your club burn to the ground.”

Darkness crept into the edges of my vision.My lungs screamed for air.I reached desperately for anything I could use as a weapon, my fingers finding only smooth concrete.Then they brushed against something metal -- a broken piece of machinery, its edge jagged and sharp.

I gripped it and swung blindly.Metal connected with the side of Balal’s head with a sickeningcrack.His grip on my throat loosened as blood poured from the gash along his temple.I hit him again, harder, feeling bone give way beneath the makeshift weapon.He toppled sideways, no longer a coordinated threat but still conscious, still dangerous.

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