Hell & High Water (THIRDS 1)

Pearce’s grin sent an icy chill up Dex’s spine. The guy was unstable. His grief over the loss of his brother, coupled with who knew what else, had done something to him.

“For war, Dex. The weak Humans will get picked off, but the strong Humans like me and you? We’ll survive. Then the government will have no choice but to send in the military and eliminate the Therian threat. Those who aren’t destroyed will be locked away in cages like the animals they are.”

Dex’s eyes went wide. The guy couldn’t be serious. “You’re talking about genocide, the murder of innocent Therians.”

Rage flashed through Pearce’s eyes, and he grabbed a fistful of Sloane’s hair, his snarling face inches away from Sloane’s. “Therians aren’t innocent. They’re abominations! Someone slipped Mother Nature a roofie, and a few months later, out they popped. Look at him. A filthy mutated creature underneath the beautiful façade of a Human, but his eyes, oh they give him away. If you stare at them long enough, you can see the embers of hell itself in there.”

Dex reached behind him, his fingers curling around a heavy set of iron tongs. Carefully, he slid them off the table, opening them and hooking one clamp through one of the thick heavy belt loops of his tac pants. Letting his arms hang at his sides, Dex took a step forward, and Pearce spun toward him, the poker held out in front of him.

“Easy there, Dex.”

“I’m sorry.” Dex held his hands up. “I’m just worried about you. What’s going to happen now? You think they’ll just let you get away with what you’ve done? You said it yourself. It’s about justice. The families of those you hurt will want justice.”

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. That’s why I called you here. In fact, that’s why I helped you that day in the parking garage. I wanted you to see you could trust me. Something big is about to happen to this city, Dex, and I sure would love to have you on the winning team. You’re a smart guy with a good heart. A little naïve, perhaps, but we can fix that.”

“We?”

“My associates.”

“The ones who lied for you?”

Pearce smiled. “You call it lying, I call it supporting. They believe the same as me. Now we need to get this little show on the road. How about it? Will you join your race? Or will you die with him?”

“What about my brother?”

“Yes, I see how you would have been taught to have affection for him.” Pearce shrugged. “Well, I’m sure we could make an exception. We’ll say he’s your pet.”

Motherfucker. It took everything Dex had not to go for the guy right now. Instead, Dex pretended to mull it over.

“Join me, Dex, and we will set the world to rights.”

“What do I have to do?”

Pearce’s gaze went to Sloane, and Dex unhooked the iron tongs from his belt. “First things first.” Pearce pulled back the poker, and Dex swung the tongs with all his strength, hurling them across the room and catching Pearce on his kneecap. With a howl, Pearce dropped the poker, clutching onto his knee as he hit the floor. Dex raced across the room, launching at Pearce as the guy pushed to his feet. They crashed to the floor, Dex landing on Pearce and throwing a fierce right hook, only to have Pearce block and catch Dex on his ribs with a left jab. They rolled on the floor, thrashing, and kicking, each one trying to get the upper hand, punches flying, hoping to make contact.

Most movie fight scenes were bullshit. In a real fight, there was no choreography. Your opponent wasn’t going to be some martial arts expert. He wasn’t going to give you the space to pull some fancy moves. He wasn’t going to pause, or hesitate. He was going to fight hard and dirty. It was about striking wherever you could when you could. Absorb the strike and use it to hit back. Dex rolled and jumped to his feet, his fists held up in front of him. He studied Pearce, tried to anticipate his movements.

Pearce came at him with hooks from every angle, and Dex held his arms close to his body, shielding himself, using the opportunity when Pearce pulled back to get in his own punches. He grabbed Pearce’s arm, spun on his heels so he was beside Pearce and threw his elbow back, landing a blow on the side of Pearce’s head, followed by a harsh swipe to his leg sending Pearce sprawling face first. Before Dex had a chance to strike, Pearce kicked out, catching Dex on the side of his knee and sending him falling. He rolled onto his back, his shirt caught in Pearce’s grip as he pulled back a fist. Dex caught it, smacking it away and brought a knee up between Pearce’s legs. As a trained officer, Pearce could fight through the pain in his family jewels for roughly five seconds max. Dex seized Pearce’s wrists and swiped a leg from under him. Pearce smacked the concrete floor hard, sucking in a sharp breath and coughing when he got a mouthful of dust and dirt. He held onto himself, his teeth gritted.

Dex scrambled to his feet, making a run for his rifle. It was just out of arm’s reach. Something solid struck him in the back, and he gasped for air, the blow propelling him forward. Motherfuck! That hurt. He lay on the floor on his stomach, and the iron tongs he’d used to catch Pearce off guard lay on the floor mere feet away. He stretched his arm out when Pearce grabbed a fistful of his hair with one hand and threw his other arm around his neck, squeezing. Pearce leaned in, his voice raspy in Dex’s ear.

“I’m sorry, Dex. This is for your own good. I can’t leave you in his hands. He destroyed my brother. I won’t let him do the same to you. I’d rather kill you myself.”

Dex bit down on Pearce’s arm until he tasted blood, and Pearce screamed, jerking his arm away and sitting back, gi

ving Dex the chance he needed to roll onto his back under Pearce who, in his rage, threw a punch as Dex had expected. He caught Pearce’s wrist, jerked him toward him, and remembering the move Sloane had pulled on him the first day they sparred together, he threw his arm around Pearce’s neck, and gave his wrist a yank, sending Pearce rolling off him.

Pearce scrambled to his feet, snatching up Dex’s thigh rig, but forgetting the safety mechanism. He let out a yelp when Dex tackled him into the couch, snatching up his rifle as they tumbled to the floor, but not before Dex snapped up his earpiece. Dex tossed the strap around Pearce’s neck and gave it a yank. His legs tried to pin down Pearce’s as he flailed and clawed at Dex. He switched on his earpiece, calling out.

“Backup! I need backup!”

Pearce managed to release the Glock from the rig, and Dex was forced to let go of his earpiece along with the strap to grab the gun in Pearce’s hand, but the safety was off by then. They continued to struggle, Dex wrapping around Pearce, his fingers digging into Pearce’s hands as they fought with the gun. A shot went off, ricocheting off the wall and hitting the chain above Sloane’s head with a spark.

Damn it! Jaw clenched, Dex spotted the tactical knife on his thigh rig. Keeping his right hand on the Glock, he threw his left out and grabbed the rig, releasing the knife. The moment Pearce saw it, he threw a fist back, catching Dex in the nose, before he rolled off Dex and made a run for it, despite the limp he now had from where Dex had caught him with the tongs. With a curse, Dex rolled onto his side, spitting out blood-filled saliva. He aimed his Glock when Pearce ran past a row of gas tanks. Fuck, if he hit those, they were all toast. He got to his feet as Pearce ran out the door into the hall.

“Dex!”

Hearing his name, he scrambled for his earpiece and put it on. “I’m here. I’m going after Isaac. I need you to—” An explosion rocked the workshop and he froze. It had come from down the street. He tried not to panic as he called out into his earpiece. “Sarge?”