Page 110 of One Secret

Despite his shock, the mercenary is no amateur. He's quick to counter. With his gun lost, he throws out a combination. I duck and counter back. I recognize his preference for karate. He reads my background in Muay Thai. Neither of us gives any ground. Our strikes are parried and our defences tested. He avoids my strike and knocks my knife to the ground. I block an assault to my face with my forearms and feel the weight of his attack shake all the way to my elbows.

I'm at a severe disadvantage. With no room to build momentum or swing through larger kicks, my attacks are low impact, and with his size, my chances of escape are low.

I hold my own and fight for any opportunity to rush for the door.

Maybe I can outlast him. My stamina is good and his strikes are hard and draining. If I can just keep blocking, keep dodging...

The assassin works my lighter weight to his advantage, throwing heavy shots to my shoulders and head. I beat him back, looking for an opening to run...

Until I lash out too far and overextend.

One mistake, soldier.

Grabbing my arm, he has me. He hip-throws me behind him, away from the door. I land on the bed. And he lands on me.

Before I can blink, he has his hands around my throat and starts to squeeze.

I pant for air and claw at his fingers. I dig my nails into the back of his hands. I try to get my legs up between us, to beat him back with my knees...

'I don't know who you really are, bitch,' he pants above me, throwing his weight into his chokehold. 'But I don't have time for this. I need to search this place before your boyfriend gets back.'

He's alive! Cyrus is alive!

Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream like a power-up. Going against instinct, I let go of the killer's hands and reach for his face. Without mercy, I drive my thumbs into his eye sockets until he howls with pain and releases me.

Gasping for oxygen, I remember not to hesitate. I throw my weight against him and send us both crashing to the ground. I straddle his body, draw back an arm, and, using gravity to my advantage, I sock him as hard as I can in the temple.

He goes limp.

Panting, I draw back for a second strike on impulse and pause, waiting to see if he moves again. A pulse flickers in his neck. His chest is still rising. But he's knocked out cold.

Relief almost leads to collapsing on top of the asshole. Sheer disgust keeps me upright and wobbling to my feet.

Checking in with my pulse and shaking out my limbs, I double-check my body for any mortal wounds that adrenaline might have concealed in the heat of battle. Finding only lumps, bumps, and a few minor cuts, I steel myself before reaching for the killer's gun. I then glance back at the six-foot-two thug passed out on the carpet.

Time for clean up...

14

I was driven down to the docks. In the cushy and plush backseat of a Mercedes XLS.

No such fucking luxury on the return journey. I'm left to make my own way back up to the hotel, headed uphill for the second time today.

I start off walking but it doesn't last.

"...I'll start with her."

Felix's threats... the knowledge in his eyes... the conniving malice in Ramirez's gaze as he spoke with Rocco...

I pick up the pace as I begin to wonder if Rocco Caruso pulls double duty, like Lana. Does he work at the hotel too? And, if so, would he know where Darcy and I are staying?

My jog becomes a run. Remembering Ramirez's absence at the pier, the run becomes an uphill sprint.

I don't think Felix would have yet ordered anything against Darcy. He was too quick to use her as a threat for those retainer numbers. But Ramirez...?

I clocked Ramirez the day we arrived; I noted his ambition and his lone-wolf motivations. If he thinks he can find something... If he thinks harming Darcy or me would gain him prestige with the head honcho...

Some deep instinct—some innate skill, honed from years of experience in this world—is now convinced: Ramirez left the pier to go back to the hotel. To find Darcy.

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