Page 18 of Lethal Vengeance
He drops to the floor.
A Mack truck drives me into the tunnel wall. Pain radiates up my spine, but he doesn’t even pause.
A bloody hand wraps around my throat while the other grabs for my knife.
Desperate to keep hold of it, I move my hand wildly in every direction.
When he can’t capture my hand, his meaty fingers wrap around my wrist, squeezing hard.
Pain shoots up my right arm, but I continue to grip the knife tightly. Just a few more seconds.
He puts additional pressure on my throat, cutting off my oxygen.
Fuck, where the hell is it?
Darkness threatens. My fingers glide around the edges of my belt. A protruding ridge. There. Using my fingernails, I grasp the tip and pull the long, thin weapon from my belt loop.
With a deep breath, I drop the knife and gasp, letting my body go limp.
He waits. Thirty seconds go by. He shakes me hard.
My head lolls. Sounds from the other fight filter to me.
Come on, I know you want to join the other fight.
Finally, he releases me, dropping me into a crumpled heap on the ground.
My body lands with a thud, with the left side taking the brunt of my weight. Tears spring to my eyes, but I lock my jaw and ignore the pain.
For several long seconds, he stands above me.
My throat burns with the need to breathe or cough, but I use all my willpower to hold it in.
He bends down and picks up my knife and wipes it on his pants. His booted feet make little sound as he moves toward the fight.
I let him get a few feet, then rise. With the wooden ends in each hand, I jump on the big guy’s back and sling the wire over his head. It loops around his neck, but instead of sawing right to left, I drop and hang off his back. The weight of my body easily pulls the wire through bone, muscle, and his carotid artery.
He drops to his knees, hands at his throat to staunch the blood, but he can’t. The move tore halfway through his neck.
Alternating between coughing and breathing, I move around to face him.
Even in the darkening light, his coal-black eyes mutely convey pure hatred at the death I delivered to him. He’s gone a second later.
After stuffing the garrote in my pocket, I bend and pluck my knife off the ground. A deep grunt catches my attention.
Sterling is fiercely fighting two men. The third is already on the ground.
He’s good, very, very good. Sharp, forceful hits. Specialized training. More than the usual military standard. He’s lightning fast, too. Arms and feet fly. Very little sound escapes him. A silent, golden menace. Who would have thought?
His boot kicks out, smashing the knee of the man on his right.
Agony flashes across his enemy’s face. Yelling and cursing wildly, he goes down.
Sterling moves, drawing his other opponent deeper into the tunnel, away from his buddies.
I move steadily toward the guy on the ground.
He’s slithering across the wet tunnel floor, trying to reach his buddy lying five feet away. He must think he has a weapon he can use. When he sees me coming, he pushes himself to move faster.
