Page 106 of Critical Mass
The boathouse was located at the end of a pier at the back of the property. The wooden structure was larger than Hudson expected—built to accommodate two boats with room to spare. Only the left slip was occupied by a motorboat, leaving the right side empty except for coiled ropes and life jackets hanging from hooks. Near the back, a card table and four chairs suggested the space doubled as a hangout spot during better times. Fishing rods leaned in one corner.
Hudson glanced around, still feeling the gun at his back. Through gaps in the floorboards, he could see dark water moving beneath them.
Dimitri released Hudson and shoved him inside.
Hudson was ready for it.
He spun as he stumbled, using the momentum to kick the gun from Dimitri’s hand.
It sank into the water.
Then he drove his elbow back into Dimitri’s ribs. The big Russian grunted but barely moved. He was like hitting a brick wall.
Hudson followed with a quick jab toward his throat, but Dimitri caught his wrist with crushing force.
“Don’t,” Dimitri warned.
Hudson didn’t listen.
He twisted, trying to break the grip, and managed to land a solid kick to Dimitri’s knee. The Russian’s leg buckled slightly, and for a moment Hudson thought he might actually break free.
Then Dimitri’s other hand clamped around Hudson’s throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.
Stars exploded across Hudson’s vision.
“Don’t make this harder.”
Hudson drove his knee up, aiming for Dimitri’s groin, but the Russian turned just enough to take the blow on his thigh. Then he pulled something from his belt—a taser.
“Last chance,” Dimitri said, his voice calm despite the fight. “Sit. Or I make you sit.”
Hudson’s answer was to grab for the taser.
His fingers closed around Dimitri’s wrist. For three seconds they grappled, muscles straining, neither giving ground.
Then Dimitri pressed the taser against Hudson’s side and pulled the trigger.
Fifty thousand volts shot through Hudson’s body. Every muscle seized, locked rigid. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel the electricity coursing through his nervous system.
When Dimitri finally released the trigger, Hudson collapsed. The Russian caught him before he hit the floor and dragged him to a chair.
“Told you,” Dimitri muttered.
Hudson’s muscles still twitched uncontrollably as Dimitri zip-tied his wrists behind the chair back. He tried to resist, tried to pull away. But his body wouldn’t respond properly. Everything felt sluggish, disconnected.
“People like you never learn,” Dimitri said in heavily accented English as he secured the restraints. “Mr. Ravenscroft, he is not cruel man. But he protects what is his. You threatened his daughter. Bad mistake.”
“I . . . didn’t . . . threaten her. I . . . I—I protect her,” Hudson managed through gritted teeth, his voice rough. “From . . . him. From . . . plan.”
Dimitri’s expression didn’t change. “You know nothing about what he plans. About what he sacrifices. You see criminal. I see man trying to save his daughter from world that wants to destroy her.”
He checked the restraints one final time before pulling out more zip ties and securing Hudson’s ankles to the chair legs.
“You fight good,” Dimitri said. “But not good enough.”
He left, locking the boathouse door behind him.
Hudson sat in the chair, his body still trembling from the aftermath of the taser, his wrists already burning where the zip ties cut into his skin. He tasted blood from where he’d bitten his tongue during the electrical surge.
