“I knew I should have put a bullet in the back of your head as soon as I saw you! That’s what Beck wanted from the beginning! Kill you and fuck this stupid little bitch sore!”
The words send waves of red-hot rage through me. I shove as hard as I can with my left hand as I roll myself over onto my back. I look up to see Caesar’s face, and his gun is pointed right between my eyes. I don’t have time to think.
I kick at his legs, and the gun goes off again. I feel chips of cement hit the side of my face as Caesar falls beside me. I flip over, grab one of his arms and pin it to the ground as I throw a leg over his torso. I slam my fist into his face as he knocks me in the side of the head with the butt end of the gun.
The hit stuns me, and the next thing I know, Caesar has me pinned to the ground, punching my face. Hannah stands a few feet from me, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. Caesar glances over at her and sneers.
“I told you to get used to the only thing you’re good for,” he says. “You had your little break. It’s time for you to get back to work!”
Caesar slams his right fist into my face again.
“You killed Beck, you motherfucker.” He puts all his weight on his knee, driving it into my gut. I can’t breathe right, and my right arm is still pinned painfully by his other leg. “I know you did.”
“Stop!” Hannah screams. “Please, stop!”
“Wait your turn, sweetheart,” Caesar calls to her. “Believe me, once I’m done with him, I’ll be taking a turn on that sweet ass of yours. Just be patient.”
I jab my left fist into his kidney, and we roll together across the concrete. I can feel rocks and bits of debris scraping my skin as we go, and another shooting pain runs up my arm. Caesar kicks out at me, separating us, and we both jump to our feet.
“Yeah, I killed Beck,” I yell at him. “Wrapped my hands around his neck and squeezed the life out of him. Watched his eyes bulge out and his face change color. It takes a long time to kill someone like that, you know? A lot longer than you think. Movies and television never get it right.”
Caesar’s jaw flexes and his free hand balls into a fist.
“Cried like a bitch when I cut him, too. I noticed you didn’t tell anyone about that. Figured you were waiting for me to slip up, but I’m not that stupid.”
“I knew it was you,” Caesar says with a growl. “I knew it the whole time.”
“Damn, did he make a fuss about getting cut, too.” I let out a laugh. “You served with him, right? Was he kicked out for being a milk-toast-gumming beta? I can’t see special ops holding on to a pussy like that.”
He raises his gun again.
We’re close enough to each other that I dive at him, rolling forward quickly. I hear the blast right behind my head. I jump to my feet and rush at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and tackling him to the ground before he can get off another shot. Shooting pain surges up my right arm, and I can’t get a good hold on him. We roll, and I lose my grip as Caesar’s gun scrapes across the concrete.
We both jump up at the same time, and I reach to my belt and draw my knife. We stand facing each other while we both catch our breath. Caesar looks at the knife in my hand and then glances down at the gun. It’s only a yard away from his feet.
“You are going down,” Caesar says with a growl.
I say nothing and I don’t move. I can hear Hannah behind me, her breath coming in staccato gasps. I have to subdue and kill him before he has the chance to go after her.
“Almost caught you back at that house by the river,” Caesar says. “I must have missed you by about five minutes. Tracked you for a mile, lost the trail, but then I heard Hannah yapping. Of course, I recognize her voice. I’ve heard her screaming often enough.”
He’s trying to distract me, but it’s not going to work. I clear my mind, keeping my sole focus on him and him alone. Caesar glances at the gun near his feet, and I grip the knife tighter in my left hand. I’m less than twenty feet away from him.
Twenty-one feet. I don’t recall his name, but I remember the instructor at the security training center saying that twenty-one feet was the golden rule. It’s the distance a running person with a knife in his hand can cover before someone can draw a gun from his holster. None of us believed him, and we all had to try it.
The guy with the gun failed every time.
As Caesar goes for the gun, I race for him. My knife is in his gut before he can get a good enough grip on the gun to bring it around. He gasps, and I pull the knife out, feeling his blood spurting onto my arm.
I jab the knife into him again, and the gun falls back to the ground. He drops backward, and I go with him. I raise the knife up and slam it into his chest, feeling the resistance of bone. I twist it to the side, and shove it between his ribs.
Caesar’s eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open. I stab him again.
And again.
Blood pours from his mouth. He reaches up and grabs the edge of my shirt fruitlessly as I pull back and lodge the knife in his neck.
Blood spurts out of his carotid, spraying my face, and I finally sit back on my heels.