She winces in pain but fights on; her stunning features contorted with rage and desperation as we each struggle to gain the upper hand. I throw a straight right, aiming for the bridge of her nose. If I connect, it’ll break it and make her eyes water, blurring her vision, and restricting her ability to take a deep breath. But as I throw the punch, she catches my arm with both her hands and holds my wrist, pulling me toward her and wrapping her legs around me. She crosses her feet behind me, trapping my head and right arm completely in the triangle formed by her legs. She squeezes with every ounce of strength she has left and pulls me farther toward her. The pressure on my throat is tremendous, and I’m instantly constricted.
I can feel myself losing consciousness…
…I re-focus on her as the world fades back to life.
I must’ve slipped away then…
…and again! Shit! I need to get out of this — the bitch is killing me!
I frantically hammer her left hand side with small hook shots from my free arm, but I can’t get enough momentum behind them for them to do any significant damage.
My mind races to think of a way out. I look around as much as I can, but there’s nothing nearby I can use.
It’s getting harder to breathe as she tightens her grip around my neck and shoulder. I’ve given up trying to fight my way out with my free arm. There’s only one thing left to try…
On my knees, being pulled forward by Dominique, I slowly bring one leg forward, then the other, so I’m in a low squat. I grip one of her wrists with my right hand as much as I can, and grab her waist with my left and squeeze, sliding my hand underneath her body. Then, with one insanely difficult gulp of air, I use every last ounce of energy I have to stand up.
The strain on my legs and arms is intense, and it momentarily causes her thighs to tighten even more, but I somehow manage to stand up straight. I hold her above me, her toned stomach pressing against my face. She’s no longer pulling me by my right arm — I have a hold of her instead of the other way around. My left hand is underneath her ass, holding her steady for a split second; the scene frozen in a violent, almost sexual position.
Then I use everything I have left to slam her down on the blacktop. I bend forward and put all my momentum into pushing her through the goddamn parking lot. Her back and head connect first, with a sickening thud. She lets out a grunt of pain as I fall forward, landing on top of her, exhausted. Her body twitches once as my weight crushes her, then she remains still.
I push myself off and fall back, so I’m sitting down facing her. There’s an expanding pool of blood flowing slowly out from underneath her head as she lies motionless.
I gasp for air, remembering I’ve just been starved of oxygen and I’ve asked my body to use much more than it had available.
My surroundings bleed slowly into focus. The heat from the blast, the darkness of the sky, the noise of the sirens…
Shit!
I scramble to my feet, coughing as I massage my throat. The police and the fire department will be here any moment, so I have to make myself scarce. I gather up my guns and holster them. I stand staring at my decimated motel room for a moment.
Josh…
“Adrian!”
I frown.
Josh?
“Adrian!”
What the…
“Josh?” I shout, unsure if the voice is even real.
I look around and over to the right, close to where the reception building is, I see Josh and Frank standing, looking on.
I walk over slowly, relieved but confused. “How the hell did you…?”
“We ran out after the first explosion,” Josh explains, “just before that crazy bitch blew up the motel. I’m guessing you didn’t hear me shouting?”
I shake my head. “I thought you were both dead…” I say.
Josh raises an eyebrow. “Were you upset?”
I shrug, keeping my face deadpan. “I paused for a whole thirty seconds to mourn you before I moved on with my life. I almost shed a tear…”
A smile creeps over both our faces at the same time, and we laugh out loud. But before I can say anything else, a voice behind me interrupts our short-lived reprieve.
“Adrian!”
I turn and see Dominique, staggering toward me like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. How the hell is she still alive?
“Adrian, I… I have to kill you… You don’t understand!”
She’s completely helpless, and has no chance of even raising a hand to me. I almost feel sorry for her.
“Dominique, it’s over,” I say. “Get out of here and don’t look back.”
“I can’t!” she continues. “You… have to… die!”
Before she can take another agonizing step toward me, I hear three loud gunshots from behind me. I freeze and close my eyes instinctively, tensing my entire body. Despite the noise all around, the next few seconds pass in silence.
I open one eye… then the other. I turn and see Frank standing with his legs wide apart and his Taurus 605 held out in front of him with both hands, smoke twirling from the barrel.
I relax and look at Josh, who’s standing with his mouth open, staring blankly at me. I slowly turn back and see Dominique lying on the floor, blood pumping from three bullet holes in her chest.
I look back at Frank. Josh is slowly pushing his arms down. He’s in shock at having just pulled the trigger.
I walk over to them both hurriedly. “We need to leave…now,” I say.
Frank doesn’t answer, or even take his eyes off Dominique’s body.
“Frank!”
He turns to me.
“We need to move.”
He nods vacantly and turns to follow Josh, who has set off running past the reception area and over the small wall to the road beyond. We catch up with him and cross the street.
“We’ll split up here,” I say. “We’re only about fifteen minutes from the city’s center on foot. We’ll all meet up in half an hour outside the Hilton, okay? We’ll lay low in the Winnebago.”
They both nod.
“Frank, are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, unconvincingly.
I nod again, letting the matter drop, and we all set off in different directions.
I take one last look behind me as I set off, looking at Dominique’s motionless corpse with the fire burning fierce and bright behind it.
What a goddamn waste.
30
Wilson Trent was sitting at a table in a small restaurant close to Heinz Field, the home turf of the Pittsburgh Steelers. When the opportunity arose, he liked to indulge himself by going to watch the team he’d supported since he was a child. It was the one thing he took time out to do just for himself. He worked hard running the empire he’d built over the last thirty or so years, and football was his own little reward. He was proud of the fact he was able to see the stadium from the window of his penthouse suite as well.
He was a creature of habit, and before every game, he came to the same restaurant for something to eat. He was surrounded by his own protection detail. There were two men by the door, one at the counter and two, one at each table, either side of him. The rest of the place was mostly empty. That’s why Trent liked it so much — all the crowds heading to the game went to the bars nearby or for pre-match drinks and food in the stadium itself, meaning he could enjoy his meal in peace before surrounding himself with the noise of the fans.
The door opened and Bennett walked in, striding purposefully toward Trent. He approached the table and cleared his throat, announcing his arrival. Trent didn’t look up from his food.