Page 78 of Striker

"Did you not fucking see that? And yet, you're fucking yelling at me to hurry?"

"Gloat later. She needs us. Those shots were from Vertucci's room."

He sprints, but I don't wait for him to come around and up the stairs. I start up alone, my finger hovering over the trigger and my heart in my throat over what I might find.

As I ascend, my nose catches something. Smoke.

Then I see it rising in a great plume from a lower floor. Somewhere in this villa, there's an inferno that'll soon consume the entire building.

I have to get to her. I have to get her out of here. Now.

At the top of the stairs, I take a deep breath and advance, gun at the ready, toward Vertucci's room, where the unceasing sound of gunfire is coming from. Through the door, I see a perplexing sight. Vertucci — dressed in a suit that looks like it cost more than my yearly wages when I was in the Corps — and a henchman are both firing their guns into Vertucci's closet.

Are they fucking high?

Suddenly, Vertucci's guard turns, as if sensing my presence, and sends several shots blasting right toward me. I duck, but not in time, and lead burns a bloody hole through my left bicep.

I scream, falling sideways. The moment I hit the ground, I roll for cover, sending a storm of bullets to give me breathing room. Sprinting, I take shelter in the adjoining room — a study — and crouch against a concealing wall, my weapon at the ready, blood streaming down my arm in a crimson river.

I just know that Danielle is trapped in that closet. Pinned there by Vertucci and his man. I have to get to her.

Somehow.

The room swims, the blood loss catching up to me, only barely held at bay by the adrenaline in my system and the aching pain in my heart. I'm so close to her I can feel it. Dani, I'm coming for you.

Then a snarky, unmistakable voice comes from the other room. "Look at these prissy bitches. That suit of yours — it’s so fucking last year."

It's Smokey. And the rapid tat-tat of gunfire that follows is him, too, and exactly the opening I need to leap back into combat, my gun at the ready.

I burst into the room, my gun aimed at the two men who are now scrambling for cover behind a large wooden desk. I don't hesitate, firing a blast that shatters the desk, sending splinters flying in every direction. Vertucci and his man are caught off guard, and I take advantage of their hesitation by firing another blast. It hits Vertucci's man square in the chest, sending him tumbling to the ground, dead.

Vertucci himself is frozen, his eyes wide with fear. He's not used to being in the line of fire like this, caught helpless and outclassed by a pair of combat-tested Marines. I can see that he's tempted to throw up his hands and surrender, but I don't give him the chance. I grab him by the collar, hauling him to his feet.

"Where is she?" I shout.

"Who?" he stammers.

"Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly who I'm talking about. Danielle. Where is she?"

Vertucci swallows hard. "In there. In my safe room."

My eyes turn for a split second, taking in the sight of a fortified door that's taken heavy fire. It's weakened, it could be broken, but it'd take more of an arsenal than either Smokey or I have with us.

In that moment, Vertucci makes a move. He slips his hand into the pocket, pulling out a knife, and he slashes at me, cutting a deep wound across my midsection and forcing me to drop my gun. Screaming in pain, I release him and prepare for the fight of my life.

With vicious intent, he lunges at me, the knife flashing malevolently in his hands.

I duck it, swing back with a punch that catches him in the midsections. He swipes back, raising another bloody slash, this time along my forearm.

I stagger, woozy, blood dripping from all my wounds, soaking the floor.

Michael Vertucci advances, a sick light in his eyes.

Then he stops. His eyes go wide. "Oh shit," he whispers. "Please… No."

There's a crack, and his head explodes, blood and brains shooting out the back of his skull and splattering the wall behind him.

I turn. Smokey's there, holding his gun and a grin on his face. "You owe me again, Striker."

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