Page 36 of Deadly Legacy
Not great odds.
One of Dmitrii’s men stepped forward, a heavy-set figure with a close-cropped beard who seemed to radiate casual menace.
“Mr. Hoyt.” The man’s lips curved into a sneer. “Dmitrii Miroslav sends his regards. He’s been trying to reach you, but he’s disappointed you haven’t been returning his calls.”
Reuben’s security detail moved in unison, creating a barrier between him and the approaching men. The guard on his left touched his earpiece. “Backup is three minutes out.”
Three minutes. Reuben evaluated the concrete pillars, the distance to their vehicle, the positions of the men. Stepan’s voice echoed in his head from countless training sessions.
Use your environment. Assess weakness. Control distance.
“Tell Dmitrii if he wants to talk business, he should call my office like everyone else.” Reuben kept his voice casual, despite the adrenaline flooding his system.
“This isn’t that kind of invitation.” The bearded man flicked his fingers. His companions began to spread out, moving with coordinated precision.
Reuben’s security team subtly repositioned themselves, one slightly forward, the other angling to watch their backs.
“Watch your left,” the guard on Reuben’s right murmured.
Reuben nodded. Months of training with Stepan had taught him how to read these situations. The man approaching from the left was the most immediate threat, already reaching inside his jacket.
Reuben didn’t wait. He stepped forward and to the side, putting the larger security guard between himself and the two men on the right. In the same motion, he drove his elbow up into the approaching threat’s solar plexus, just as Stepan had drilled into him countless times.
The man doubled over with a pained gasp. Reuben followed with a knee to his face, feeling cartilage give way beneath the impact. Blood spattered across the concrete floor, its metallic scent sharp and immediate in the stale garage air.
Behind him, his security team engaged the others. The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoed through the garage. Reuben had no time to watch them—a second attacker was already on him, swinging a heavy fist toward his jaw.
Reuben slipped the punch, feeling the air displace near his ear. He countered with a quick jab to the throat, not enough to crush the windpipe but sufficient to send the man staggering back, choking and clutching his neck.
A flash of pride cut through the adrenaline. A little under a year ago, he would have been helpless in this situation. Now his body moved with confidence born of repetition, muscles remembering what his mind had learned through pain and persistence.
The first attacker was struggling to his feet, blood streaming from his broken nose. His eyes locked on Reuben with murderous rage.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, red-tinted saliva hitting the floor between them.
Reuben circled, maintaining space between them, his weight centered. “I’ve heard better threats at a poker table.”
Out of his peripheral vision, Reuben could see one of his security guards grappling with two attackers while the other fired a warning shot that ricocheted off a concrete pillar with a sharp crack. The sound rang out through the garage like thunder.
In that momentary distraction, the first attacker lunged forward. Reuben sidestepped, using the man’s momentum against him, driving him face-first into the side of a parked car. The impact created a hollow dent in the door.
Reuben spun to face the second attacker, who had recovered enough to pull a knife. The blade caught the fluorescent light as he slashed it through the air.
“You really want to do this?” Reuben kept his voice steady, despite his racing heart. “Dmitrii just wanted to talk, right?”
The man glared, twirling the knife with fluid expertise. “Plans change.”
He darted forward, knife aimed at Reuben’s midsection. Reuben twisted away, the blade slicing through his suit jacket but missing flesh. He grabbed the man’s extended wrist with both hands, using the leverage technique Stepan had shown him.
The knife clattered to the ground as the man’s wrist bent at an unnatural angle. His scream reverberated through the concrete structure.
A heart-beat later, a gunshot cracked through the garage. One of Reuben’s security guards stumbled back, clutching his shoulder.
“Boss! Get to cover!” the wounded guard shouted, still raising his weapon despite the blood seeping through his fingers.
Reuben backed away from his disabled opponent, scanning for the best route. His remaining functional guard was still engaged with two of Dmitrii’s men, leaving Reuben momentarily exposed.
Reuben backed up rapidly, heading toward a row of parked cars that could provide cover. His back bumped against a town car he hadn’t noticed before.
