* * * * *
Three hours.
Three interminable hours when time stretched on, torturing us.
I couldn’t tell if I wanted yet more of the same torturous waiting or for the clock to strike D-day and get it over with.
Depending on how the Chinmoku arrived, they could appear at any second. The drive from the port only took four or so hours—at approved speed limits—and I didn’t have a clue if they’d have other methods of transportation.
We were literally sitting fucking ducks, waiting for the hillbilly with his shotgun to arrive and blow us into feathers and pâté.
It’d almost been as hard to watch Pim leave with Tess and the maid, heading to safety, as it had been to say goodbye. The next time I saw her—if I saw her—this would all be over and who knew what sort of world would be left.
The disabilities I suffered ached deeper as I did my best to pump ruined muscles with adrenaline, preparing for yet another battle. I couldn’t focus on the way breathing killed me or walking was a debilitating chore. I had to be functioning. I had to be invincible.
For three hours, we’d reconvened in the games room hidden beneath the stairs. Neither the library nor the lounge would work as headquarters with the number of windows and visibility from the outside.
Instead, we’d spread out floor plans of Mercer’s chateau on top of his large pool table. Used whiskey glasses acted as markers for where we would try to direct the Chinmoku for better target practice. A strategy contrived by all of us, including help from Mercer’s in-house security team.
Twelve men.
Twelve well-trained, ruthless men who all had kills under their belt in one way or another, according to Mercer.
In an ordinary fight, I’d say our odds were better than good. Mercer’s men had automatic guns, wicked sharp blades, and honed instincts on how best to slaughter.
However, this wasn’t an ordinary fight.
This was the Chinmoku, and they wore red gloves for a reason. Their hands were as sharp as blades, their kicks as merciless as bullets. If Mercer’s security had never come face to face with a trained martial arts master, they were as useless as I was in my current condition.
I rolled my shoulder, contemplating making a brace out of a tea towel hanging on the bar in the corner of the room. The ache in the gunshot wound had increased since we’d started talking military action.
I wanted to numb the throb but couldn’t have alcohol, and I refused any more painkillers that Selix kept in his back pocket.
I needed my brain clear. I needed to become one of them again if I had any chance of outsmarting my old master.
Q interrupted my thoughts, his hands splayed on a schematic of his home, his lips damp from a sip of whatever amber liquor he’d poured. “Anything to say to the men, Prest? You know these bastards. How would you defeat them?” He cocked his head, obviously remembering his part in mowing down the men who’d infiltrated the Phantom the other night. He’d already killed a few, and his cocky smirk showed it. “I went to your boat trigger happy. I didn’t give them a chance to get near me. Is that what you suggest?”
I nodded, balling my hands, ignoring my stiff broken finger that refused to bend. “That is the best advice. These men have been honed since birth to kill with nothing. If they underwent the same initiation I did, they’ll have had their senses robbed—making them fight blind then deaf then crippled—teaching how each malady is nothing that they can’t overcome. As each skill is mastered, they become better and better at being unseen, unheard, unknown until it’s too late.”
I narrowed my eyes at the men around the room. “Let them come close and they will find a way to destroy your gun, break your bones, and steal your life before you even look into their eyes.”
The dark-suited army shifted and cleared their throats. One by one, they nodded. “We’ll shoot the moment we confirm they’re Japanese and not one of ours.”
“Good.” I inhaled hard; the room swam a little as more pain made itself known. I wished to fucking God I wasn’t the weakest link. I wished I could meet the leader on Mercer’s lawn, rip off my shirt, don my old pair of crimson gloves, and challenge him.
That would be the surest way to end this with no further bloodshed of others. The only people bleeding would be me and the leader of the Chinmoku.
They were assassins and traffickers and drug dealers, but they were also the most honourable men I’d ever known.
They had a code.
That code was stricter than law—it was their heartbeat and absolute.
Law number one: run from your mistakes and they’d kill everyone associated with you until you were dead.