Page 221 of New Storm Rising
My leg whipped forward, pushing up the rifle and slamming it straight into the other man’s masked face, sending him flying. The only problem? It was myinjuredleg.
“Aagh!” Clenching my fists hard enough to draw blood, I slid off the balustrade and onto the balcony. With all my might, I banished the pain from my mind and lunged forward to grab hold of my enemy’s weapon.
“¡Bastardo!”the man snarled. “Die for me!”
Other men might have replied with insults of their own. I replied with a punch to the gut. Much more suitable.
“Ugh!”
And, as it turned out, much more effective. The assassin doubled over, allowing me to slam a fist down on his head.
“Rrraah!”
With a bellow, the man charged forward, ramming into me head first and nearly bowling me over. Emphasis onnearly. Once more I latched onto the assassin’s rifle and wrenched it upward, right out of the man’s hand. But before I could level it and take aim, he grabbed hold of the thing again and tried to regain control of his weapon.
Not something I would allow.
Abruptly, I stopped tugging at the rifle and pushed instead. Taken aback by the sudden change, the man stumbled, and the rifle’s barrel slid past his head, ending up right next to his ear.
Quick as a snake, I reached up and pulled the trigger.
Bam!
“Aaaaah!”
Instinctively, the assassin reached up to clutch his ear, the eardrum of which had probably just been shattered. I didn’t waste the opportunity. Wrenching the rifle out of weakened grip, I swung it straight at his head.
Crunch!
The butt of the rifle slammed into the side of the assassin’s head and sent him tumbling over the balustrade. He had only a moment to scream before his voice was cut off abruptly by a distinctly unhealthy sound. I stepped towards the balustrade and looked down. There, far below, lay the Spaniard, sprawled on the ground. Beneath him, dark red liquid was starting to spread on the round.
Dragging in a deep breath, I straightened and stared down at the man in silent triumph. It. Was. Done. For a moment, it almost felt as if I were about to smile.
That was when I heard it.
The thud from below, followed by the sound of scuffling. For just an instant, I stood there, frozen, one thought blaring loudly in my mind:He is not alone!
My body moved before my mind did. In a blink, I was over the balustrade and on my way down. It was only then that my survival instincts flared to life, reminding me that there was no staircase beneath me and my leg was still injured.
Right now, those were no more than insignificant details. Half-climbing, half-falling, I made my way down the rough stone wall. When there were only a few yards left, I heard another thud from inside the statue, followed by the yelp of a familiar voice.
Lillian.
Without hesitation, I let go of the wall and fell.
Thud!
It hurt. It hurt so bleeding much. Quite literally, if the red stain on my trouser leg was anything to go by. Right then and there, however, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when, through the half-open door at the base of the statue, I could see three armed thugs approaching my wife.
In a flash, I was at the door. A single kick sent the thing nearly flying off its hinges and it slammed against the wall with a thunderous crash.
For a single moment, everyone in the room was frozen. I had just enough time to take in the figures of three ruffians surrounding my wife before I picked up the assassin’s bent rifle from the ground and dashed forward.
Thud!
With the possible exception of rustling banknotes, I had never heard a more satisfying sound than the rifle connecting with the first thug’s head. He didn’t instantly go down, so I drew back my improvised club for another swing.
“Aaaargh! No, don’t! We surren—”
