Page 78 of His Son's Brid
He closes the distance in three strides, knocking the gun aside with one hand. I watch, can't look away, can't even blink, as Axel grabs the man's arm and twists. The crack of breaking bone is so loud it echoes off the walls. The man screams.
Axel doesn't stop. He rips the weapon from the man's broken grip and swings it like a club, connecting with his skull with a wet, horrible thud. Once. Twice. The man's knees buckle.
The third hit drops him completely.
Oh God. Oh God, he's so fast, so brutal, he didn't hesitate, didn't even pause.
"Come on." Axel's back, grabbing my hand, pulling. There's blood on his knuckles now, joining the blood already on his shirt.
We're running again. My lungs are burning, each breath painful. My legs are shaking so hard I can barely keep my feet under me, but Axel's grip is iron, dragging me forward even when I stumble.
There is movement ahead, and a third man steps out from behind a marble column.
This one's different. Faster. Smarter. More trained.
He doesn't waste time going for Axel. Doesn't try to shoot. He goes straight for the weakness—me.
He lunges, grabs my arm, and yanks me backward so hard I feel something pop in my shoulder. I scream, more from shock than pain, and then I'm being used as a human shield, his arm locked around my throat.
"Drop it," he snarls at Axel in accented English. "Drop the gun, or I snap her neck."
Axel turns.
And the man I've known, controlled, measured, always in command of himself, completely disappears.
What's left is something feral. Something that makes my blood run cold, even though I know it's on my side.
His eyes go black. Empty of everything except pure rage.
"Let. Her. Go." Each word is bitten off, deadly quiet.
"I said drop the—"
Axel moves.
I don't even see it happen. One second, the man has me, the next, Axel's got the man's arm in both hands, breaking his grip with a vicious twist that makes the man scream. Then Axel's hands are around his throat, and he's lifting and slamming him into the wall.
Once.
The wall cracks.
Twice.
The man's trying to fight back, clawing at Axel's face, leaving bloody scratches down his cheek. Axel doesn't even flinch. Doesn't seem to feel it.
Three times.
The man's movements are getting weaker, more desperate. His face is turning purple.
Axel slams him again. And again. And again. Each impact accompanied by a wet crunch that I know I'll hear in my nightmares.
Finally, the man goes limp.
Axel drops him. The body crumples to the floor like a broken doll.
But Axel's not done.
He bends, picks up the man's fallen weapon, and puts two bullets in his chest. The shots echo in the hallway, final and brutal.
