Page 35 of Velvet and Valor
He snorts. “You sure about that?”
The ax flops in my hand as I bring it back for a chop…wait, flops?
I’m holding the goddamn dildo.
Shorty smirks.
“You’re fortunate you have amused me with your stunning ineptitude,” he says, standing almost straight up and down as if he’s posing for a photo. He’s dropped any and all pretense of defense. He knows he’s got me. “It has purchased you a few more moments of existence.”
I see the actual axe I was searching for sitting in the limp grasp of the first assailant. If I go for it, he’s going to split my skull in two. No question about it.
He’s not taking me seriously. Just some idiot American with a dildo in his hand. But the dildo is one of those silicone numbers, with big metal vibrating balls inside and a sizable battery pack. In other words, it’s kind of heavy…
Before I can overthink it too much, I step in and wallop him upside the head with the dildo. It bends and flexes mid-swing, building up energy like a whip. When the broad side of the shaft smacks his cheek, it makes a sound like a wet towel hitting a concrete floor.
I can hear June cry out in sympathy. The shout is that horrific. The echo of the sound comes back, and I feel it on my skin. But the worst thing is I’m not even done. I keep up the assault, smacking him in the head and neck with the dildo until he stumbles back, dropping the axe in the process.
I lose my grip on the improvised weapon, but that's okay. I like the looks of his. The axe lays unclaimed on the floor. I just have to reach over and grab it.
My hand stretches out, fingers extended mere inches from the axe. I grab hold of the handle, but before I can lift it more than an inch my opponent slams his foot down on my hand. It feels like an elephant did one of those pro wrestling flips and landed on me. My fingers are crushed between the axe handle and floor.
Needless to say, I let go of the axe and cradle my injured hand. But Shorty doesn’t go for the weapon. He knows that if he tries to grab the axe, I’ll kick him in the teeth. I feel tempted to let him grab the handle and then stomp on his hand. He should know how it feels!
The sound of footsteps in the hallway draws all of our attention. Well, not Baldo, he’s busy bleeding out on the floor.
I hope it’s someone from Platinum Security. But instead, another Asian man with an axe enters my line of sight. He’s tall and lanky, with longish hair. I decide to call him Mullet for the few seconds I’ll get to keep on living.
“You should just leave,” Shorty says as Mullet draws closer. “We just want the woman.”
Most likely they want to take June alive. Most likely. That’s the part that sticks, though. The rub, as Shakespeare would say. I don’t know for sure if they really are going to take her alive. I can’t take the risk. I can accept I might die here, but not June.
Different battlefield, same old problems.
Mullet, the newest intruder, turns his body sideways to make it past his friend. My hand darts out, fingers curling around a fistful of Shorty’s shirt. I pull Shorty bodily into the path of his buddy. The two of them crash together, going down onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.
I start kicking and stomping, my focus on the hand holding the axe. A jolt of triumphant energy shoots through me when I kick the axe right out of the intruder’s hand.
Maybe I get a little overconfident, though. I try to yank back on instinct to free myself.
But Shorty was counting on that. Baited me into it, in fact. Instead of trying to stop me from pulling away, the assholepushesthe bottom of my foot, adding impetus to my motion. I fly back, hit the floor hard and skid back, my head smacking the sharp corner of a baseboard.
Pain shoots through my skull, hot and bright and threatening to encompass all. I fight through the agony, hoping I haven’t got a fracture. The corner shouldn’t have gone deep enough to cause brain damage.
It’s a tiny target anyway.
Jokes. I’m making silent jokes with no audience but myself. I doubt I have brain damage. Or maybe I do, because I think it’s kind of funny. All of this is going through my head as I get to my feet.
Shorty and Mullet separate themselves and regain their feet as well. For a moment it looks like they’re going to run. I actually hope they do. I’m puffing and out of breath, after scaling the fence and then fighting for my life not once, but twice.
But the Mullet, who I think must be in charge, gestures toward June’s bedroom door.
“Get the fake courier,” he growls. “I’ll tie up the loose end.”
Fake courier? He must be talking about June. My mind barely has time to process this nugget before my body instinctively reacts.
“No!” I shout, throwing myself at them. My fist connects solidly with Mullet’s jaw. He stumbles back, and Shorty catches him.
“Let go of me,” he growls, shoving the younger guy back. “Do your job. I can handle him.”
