Mercy and Mayhem Men of Mercy(75)

Mack hissed in a breath. "Attack."

Like a lethal swarm of hornets, enemy combatants rose up from behind the tables, all of them in black, all of them moving without the assistance of night vision goggles, and all of them bigger than any man on his team.

"Hunter, two o'clock."

Hunter grunted, throwing a right hook as he spun to meet his silent opponent.

"Jared, your left." Jared Crowe brought a knife around with him, but his attacker jumped back as he sliced the air between them. Shit.

These men moved with a lethal fluidity and speed even faster than Reaper. They acted and reacted a split second before his men, as if they were anticipating the moves. The first trickle of unease ran down his spine.

"Colonel?" Merc called out, ripping a knife from his opponent's hand. He slapped a meaty arm around the man's neck, pulling him up tight against his chest.

Mack didn't bother turning; he wouldn't have time. Letting instinct guide him, he jabbed the butt of his rifle to his left, made contact with something that felt more like a solid wall than a man. He only had a nanosecond to savor the feeling before a fist slammed into his jaw. Mack stumbled right, his left ear blazing with pain and ringing louder than the Big Ben. Shit, he'd never been hit so hard-and he'd been hit plenty. Gathering his wits, he squared off. A rifle would be no good to him in this proximity. Mack dropped it and went for his pistol.

No one in the room spoke. There were only grunts and thuds and the sound of tables crashing to the ground.

"Come on, bastard. Let's see what you've got."

Without hesitation, the man leaped forward, and before Mack could even squeeze off a round, he'd taken another heavy punch. What the hell? Another hit; Mack took it on the chin like a good soldier, trying to maintain his grip on the gun.

His attacker kept renewing his attack. Mack fell back, swinging up a leg and sweeping it around. The man jumped, easily missing the kick. The assassin was too fast. Too strong. Mack couldn't take him in hand-to-hand combat and come out on top.

How the hell were these guys fighting in complete blackness without any night-vision goggles? "How can you see me?" Mack ground out, raising his weapon once more.

The assassin spun in the air and slammed into Mack's wrist.

A cracking pain shot up Mack's arm, but he held on to his gun, unwilling to give up his only chance for surviving this fight.

The assassin stared directly at Mack, no expression on his face whatsoever.

It was as if he was empty, not really a man but a machine. The exact same look that had been in Reaper's eyes. "What are you?"

Before Mack processed movement, the assassin struck. A searing pain radiated through his side. His pistol clattered to the ground, and he slapped a hand to his stomach, fresh hot blood immediately drenching his fingers. It was as if the knife had appeared out of nowhere. The assassin now hung back, holding the blade like it was an extension of his hand.

Weakness seeped up his feet to his knees and thighs, bringing with it a cold realization: Mack wasn't going to win this one. He wasn't going to get to kill Mankel. He wasn't going to win.



       
         
       
        

Marley . . . Mack's legs gave out and he went to his knees. He needed to see her. He needed to touch her. He needed to tell her he loved her and that he forgave her.

The assassin stepped up, raising his arm to deliver the death blow. But there was no smile of victory on his face, no expression at all. Mack squared his shoulders, ready to go out like the soldier he was.

He was dimly aware of his men fighting around him. Deep grunts and the sound of bodies slamming into metal filled the room. There was a crash and then a high pitched alarm went off.

Suddenly the assassin seized, dropped the knife, and fell to the floor convulsing.

What the fuck?

He didn't have time to process before his survival instincts kicked into high drive. He grabbed the assassin's knife, slammed it into the man's temple and knocked him out. His body went limp, except for a few twitches.

Staggering to his feet, Mack saw the rest of his men in much the same condition as he had been-wounded and fighting a losing battle. Everyone except Merc, who had blood dripping from his face and hands but was still holding his own. He was all about letting each man take care of himself, but the assassins they fought weren't human; they didn't move like regular men. And he sure as hell wasn't going to stand there and watch his team get taken out by Mankel's scientific experiments.

Mack snuck up behind the assassin attacking Hunter and brought the hilt of the knife down hard on the back of the man's neck. He crumpled. Hunter gave him a nod, his face bloody, before turning to assist his brother. Mack went to help Jared, but Mankel's guy saw him coming and kicked out a leg, catching Mack straight in his wounded side. Blinding, white-hot agony stole his breath. He couldn't even gasp. He doubled over and clutched his side. Jared moved in with an upper cut, and the assassin flew backward and hit the ground, down but not out.