Shit.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I needed a solid minute or several of them before going back into that room. The last thing Mil needed was for me to go back in there so damn turned on I had trouble walking. May as well wave a flag or something. It was beyond obvious, not to mention irritating.
By the time I reached the ice machine, I wanted to shoot so many holes through it that I was already regretting the fact that I’d brought my gun. Pretty sure destroying hotel property would land me in jail.
Groaning, I leaned my forehead against the machine and took a few deep breaths.
Just as I was about to press the button, the hair on the back of my neck stood on edge. It was quiet, too quiet. The elevator dinged, and then I heard some shuffling, footsteps. The normal hotel guest would be talking, or at least purposefully walking. Quietly, I ducked into the corner and looked down the hall. Two men in suits were quietly walking and talking. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that’s the problem. It’s never the creepers I worry about. But normal people? Men in suits? People who looked like they belong — those are the real threats. They’re the moms and dads taking their kids to school in the sick SUV. The clean cut ones were a pain in my ass. I watched, I waited. They stopped in front of my room.
Shit.
The tall one on the right seemed to be in charge. He motioned for the other to step aside as he pulled out his gun and moved to the front of the door. Wow, a silencer. How predictable. The taller one knocked on the door and said in a low baritone, “Security.”
I rolled my eyes. Security, my ass.
They weren’t my men. They sure as hell weren’t familiar. I reached for my Glock and held it behind me, making my way casually down the hall. As I approached, they both looked up and offered easy smiles, which meant one thing.
They weren’t there for me. They didn’t even know who I was.
They were there for Mil.
I gave them a cocky grin, counting the seconds until I could punch in their shit-eating faces. On the plus side, I could take out all my pent-up frustration on them, poor bastards.
The door handle twisted, gaining their attention. With a swift thrust of my gun, I knocked the first one out and then used my elbow to get the other guy in the face. He shook it off as if I’d barely touched him.
Of course, tonight of all nights, when all I really wanted was peace and quiet and possibly to let out some sexual frustration — I’d be stuck with someone who, by the feel and looks of it, clearly had had his fair share of training in the ring.
With a grunt he pushed me against the hallway wall, ramming his fist into the side of my face. After three hits, I was able to finally duck on the fourth, so his hand hit the wall. And just like that, I knew the boxer’s choreography. His dance, if you will. Right hook, uppercut, right hook, left. I landed a double jab to his stomach and then kneed him a few times before he toppled over, compliments of Muay Thai, bitch. With a grunt, his hand clamped around my wrist, knocking my gun to the floor. I kicked him again then slammed down my arms on his grasp around my waist, momentarily giving me enough time to scramble to my pant leg so I could grab my knife.
We danced around one another. He smirked, throwing his gun and pulling out his own knife. So it was going to be like that, cocky piece of work. He lunged first. I let the blade get within inches of my face before moving to the right and using his momentum to throw him over my shoulder and onto the carpet. I got on top of him and punched him repeatedly in the face until blood covered his smirk. A tooth went flying as he spat blood from his mouth.
“You’re going to have to kill me.” He spit out some more blood as he knocked his head against mine.
Groaning, I fell to the side as we switched positions. But I still had my knife. When he came down a second time, I held up the blade so it went into his palm. He howled in pain and fell back, giving me enough time to grab the knife he’d dropped and thrust it into his chest as the weight of his body fell back on top of me.
I had a love and hate relationship with knives.
I loved the control they gave me.
But I hated that, as gravity caused his body to slide to the handle of the knife, I could see the life leave his eyes, his soul finally finding rest. With a grunt, I pushed him off of me just in time to see the other guy wake up and scramble for the extra gun.
I moved as fast as I could and jumped on top of him, but his gun wasn’t trained on me. It was trained on himself.
I held up my hands. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Chase Abandonato, and you are?” I asked in a calm voice slowly leaning away from him. His hand shook as he held the gun to his chin. Why wasn’t he putting up a fight? I looked down, and that’s when I saw, somehow in the fight his leg had twisted. No way could he win against me. Even with a gun, he would most likely die trying.
Blood poured from the guy’s face as he looked up at me and answered, “A dead man.”
One gun shot.
His body slumped to the floor in a bloody heap as blood splattered all over the wall behind him. It was a complete mess. Blood began to pool at my feet.
“Son of a bitch.” I wiped my hands on my pants and gazed back at the door, hoping Mil hadn’t witnessed the entire thing.
Her face was pale, her lower lip trembled as she leaned against the door. Shit, she needed to sit down before she passed out.
“I’m fine.” She waved me off once I reached her. “I’m fine. I mean…” She swallowed. “I’m good.”
“Stop saying you’re fine and good before I take you to the damn hospital.” I held out my hand. “Cell phone. Now.”