He let out a soft grunt. Cursing loudly, I swung the knife in a sideways chop. Max was quicker than his build suggested. He twisted his torso, brought an arm up, and handed me a hard blow close to my elbow. My arm went numb, my fingers unclenched, and my knife clattered to the floor. Now it was Max's turn to attack. He swung a hard right at my head. What saved me was the shortness of his arm. I managed to tilt my head backward just in time, out of his limited reach. His fist blurred past my eyes.
He had invested too much in that one blow. He was too close to me, and his right side was exposed. I brought a knee up, right into his flank. I must have caught part of his kidney, because he moaned with true pain and lowered his guard. My right hand was unresponsive, so I jabbed with my left. I got him right on the nose and heard a low crunch. Blood spilled out of his nostrils, painting his thick lips red.
His nose must have hurt like mad, but he didn't seem to feel it. He swung at me again. I raised my left arm to block him, and his fist smacked into the radial bone. Pain jarred all the way up to my shoulder. My arm dropped like a piece of string at my side. He swung again, this time at my belly. I managed to turn my body at the last instant so his fist caught me on my useless left arm. It was more luck than skill, and I knew it would not last. Next time he would score a hit that would matter.
I shuffled back. Max came at me again, sensing my vulnerability. I surprised him by changing direction, moving forward straight into him instead of retreating. I lowered my head into his face, butting him right on his damaged nose. This time the crunch was louder. It was followed by a couple of cracks and thuds as he crashed backward onto the floor, toppling one of the overturned chairs on his way down. He lay motionless, arms and legs sprawled.
My head hurt where I had butted him, but it did not feel like my skin had broken. Tingling sensation was returning to my right arm. A dull ache had settled in my left. I was breathing rapidly, and my heart was pumping like a frantic sailor in a ship that was taking in water. The bitter scent of fear-induced sweat reached my nostrils. It might have come from Max, but I suspected I was the source.
I studied the fallen man. His face was a mess of blood. The chair, one of its legs busted, lay by his head. For a second, I thought I had killed him. Then I saw his large belly rising and falling. Max was out, but alive.
Where was my knife?
The answer came a second later when I heard Yuri yell, "Max! Max!" and turned toward him.
His right hand was gripping my knife. His left was curled around Rachel, holding her tight to him. The knife's tip was at her throat.
He must have picked up the knife after it had dropped from my hand. Why had he not used it on me? He could have sliced me half a dozen times while I was fighting Max. The pallid face that peered over Rachel's shoulder and his frantic calls to his unconscious accomplice were all the answer I needed. At his core, Yuri was a coward. He might steel himself enough to attack a lonely woman, but he had an inherent fear of fighting other men. Not even when he had a knife and the man standing in his way was unarmed and had all his attention set on another adversary.
"He can't hear you, Yuri," I said, taking a step closer to him and Rachel.
His panicked eyes shifted to me, and he tightened his grip on Rachel. She was utterly colorless, her eyes pleading. Her lower lip trembled. Not that Yuri looked much better. In fact, I would have been hard put to determine who was more terrified—Yuri or Rachel.
"Stay away from me, or she gets it. Right in the neck."
"You all right, Rachel?"
She gave the tiniest of nods. I took another step forward.
"Stay away, I tell you." Yuri's eyes went from my face to Max. He was praying for a rescue. I very much doubted God was listening.
"Max can't help you, Yuri. If he stirs, I'll kick him in the head and knock him out again."
"You son of a bitch. Back off."
There were four feet between us now. I moved right so my body blocked Yuri's view of Max. I wanted his undivided attention. I wanted him to feel he had no way out but what I was willing to offer him. "You got two options," I said, feigning a calmness I did not feel. What I had in mind depended on my having read him correctly. If I hadn't, things might end badly. "Neither of them is good, but one is much worse than the other. Listen closely. Option one is you hurt Rachel in any way. If you do that, I'll kill you. Option two is you let her go unharmed. Then you'll be alive come dawn. Which do you choose?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. It stayed open for a while, but not a sound emerged from it. All his plans for the evening had come crashing down around him. Even this moment was not going as it should. He was holding the knife. He had the hostage. He should be the one setting terms. But I wasn't following his script. I was the one who was directing how this little scene would play out. He didn't know what his next line should be. I took another step. Then another. I was close enough to reach out and touch Rachel. If I had the inclination, I could have counted the sweat drops on Yuri's forehead.
"What will it be, Yuri? Life or death. Choose now, or I'll make your choice for you."
We stared at each other for half a minute or so. His hand was shaking, and I worried he might accidentally nick Rachel. "Max," he said, his voice quaking. When no answer came, he cursed in Russian. I could see the wheels turning in his pathetic excuse for a brain, searching for a way out. By the expression on his face, those wheels were stuck in a rut, spinning in place.
Then, with a cry of anger or anguish, directed at me or at himself, he let go of Rachel and pushed her hard to me. I grabbed her and steadied her on her feet.
"Now the knife," I said, steering Rachel to the side. "Put it on that table there."
A final hesitation, and I could imagine what was going through his mind. He had a knife. I was weaponless. Was this the day he would overcome his cowardice? Could he emerge from this day a new man?
I let him work through it, and he did not surprise me. His nature won out. He tossed the knife on a nearby table. Then he straightened his back, tried a sneer on for size, found that it didn't sit right, and let it melt off his face.
"You can have the bitch if you're so keen on her," he said, moving to go past me.
I buried my right fist in his belly. He was soft, hardly any muscle. The fist went deep. He folded with a whoosh of air and fell to his knees, retching.
"Adam," Rachel said with evident surprise, but I paid her no mind. I put my foot in Yuri's side and pushed him over. He landed on his back, still gasping for air.
I knelt by him, stuck my hand in his pants pocket, and took out his wallet. I stood and emptied the wallet of money, placing the cash on the table by the knife. Then I read his full name out loud from his ID.
"Now I know who you are, and I'll be able to find you. If you ever come back here, if you ever bother Rachel again, I'll find you and kill you. Get it?"
He didn't answer. He just lay there, looking pitiful. But I felt no pity for him. He had terrorized and robbed a helpless woman, and was planning on doing much worse. I knew what I had to do.
I stood over him. "I told you I'd let you live, but you still need to pay for what you did here. Extend your hand. Put it right here." I tapped on the floor with my shoe.
Yuri blinked at me uncomprehendingly. I had to tell him again before he did as instructed.
He didn't see it coming, but Rachel did. As I raised my foot and brought it down on his outstretched hand, she screamed, "No! Don't!"
Her words were drowned out by the sound of fingers snapping and Yuri screaming.
Curled on his side, clutching his ruined hand to his chest, he sobbed. The tears dripped from his eyes to the floor.