Mercy and Mayhem Men of Mercy(76)

Trying not to black out, Mack grabbed the nearest table and fought off a wave of dizziness threatening to take him under. Mankel  –  he had to stay conscious.

There were more grunts, more thuds. Merc took a punishing blow from his opponent.

The screeching alarm from earlier sounded again. The assassin shuddered as if in pain. His entire expression shifted from cold killer to savage animal. He threw back his head and roared and shoved the computer off the desk nearest him.

Merc took an uneasy step back, holding his knife in front of him. The assassin launched with inhuman speed and power, going for Merc's throat with his bare hands. Merc's knife clattered to the floor. They went down hard, crashing into a chair and taking it out before they hit the ground. The assassin never let go of Merc's neck.

Merc slammed his fist into his face, a move that would knock out any other man, but the assassin barely flinched. He squeezed tighter. Merc choked and got in another punch, this time to the side of the assassin's head. He didn't let up an inch. His whole deadly focus was on choking the life out of Merc. 

Hunter dove in, gun raised and slammed the hilt of his pistol into the assassin's temple. He jerked and then fell forward, unmoving.

"What the fuck was that?" Hunter growled as he pulled the man off Merc and helped his teammate to his feet.

Merc stumbled, grabbed the desk and held on, gasping for breath. "I don't know, but he didn't even feel my hits."

What the hell was going on here? There wasn't a single human being on this planet that wouldn't fall under Merc's massive fists. But right now, he didn't have time to analyze the unconscious men. He had to find Mankel first.

Riser still lay unconscious on the ground. A hard cough wracked Mack, nearly taking him down. He shook it off, but the floor tilted and he was falling and . . .

Hunter suddenly had his arms under Mack, lifting him up. "We got it from here, Colonel. We need to back you out of here. You're losing blood fast."

"No," Mack ripped out. "Mankel first."

Hunter just shook his head. "Stubborn bastard."

"Is Riser okay?"

There was a groan. Then Riser was sitting up, hands cupped over his temples. "Shit, that hurts." He blinked and surveyed the room. "Looks like I missed out on a really good fight."

Ethan chuckled and helped him to his feet. "We opened up a can of straight-up whoop ass. They never had a chance."

"Yeah, and they went schizophrenic on our asses," Hunter mumbled.

Mack took a step, grinding his teeth together to keep from hissing in pain. His shoulder burned, and his side felt like he had a hot poker lodged in it. Even his jaw throbbed. But he had a mission to complete-a mission to kill Mankel. Now that the tide had turned again, he might have his chance . . . "Find him. Find that bastard now."

He didn't know how much longer he had before blacking out, but he had made a promise to his team and himself. He'd see this through or die trying. Mack took a staggering step forward. Riser supported him with a shoulder under his arm on his non-injured side. "Colonel, you're losing too much blood. We can finish this."

"No. Me."

"Colonel-"

"No. I'm the one who ordered the raid that got Shane killed. I was in charge. It's my responsibility, Goddammit, and I'm not leaving here until Jack Mankel's dead." The words tore out of his mouth as if they'd been ripped from his soul.

His team gave him some uneasy stares, but Mack ignored them. They'd do what he said, or he'd find the strength to march out of there himself. Somehow.

"Well, boys, sounds like the colonel's made up his mind. Let's ride this rodeo to the end." Hunter circled a finger in the air and took the lead. Riser fell in behind the rest, handed Mack his hand gun and took most of Mack's weight as he limped from the room.

Blood soaked his shirt, the coppery smell of it filling his nostrils. The space down here was getting colder by the second. Mack palmed his sidearm, needing that grounding reminder. He had to fight it. He had to fight the sweet suck of oblivion.

The lights in the hallway flashed, buzzing on and off now from the emergency alarm they'd tripped. They turned left, kept moving, and then hooked a right, watching for an attack all the while.

Barely able to stand the glare from the lights, Mack let his lids hang low, shielding his vision as much as possible. His hands shook; his feet felt like someone had poured concrete in his boots.



       
         
       
        

Soon, he'd release his stranglehold on the present and float in the air. And yet . . . Marley flitted through his head again, grounding him. He wondered what she was thinking right now. Would she be clutching the handle next to the window in the helicopter's cab, worried about him? Or was she just biding her time, waiting to get home and thankful to finally be rid of Mack and his team?