“I fucking love baseball. Now go. We’re going to be OK. I love you. Go! Stay down!”
“I love you!”
Kendall crouched and ran through a doorway into another room. I blinked away tears. That was going to be the last time I ever saw the woman I loved.
I prayed that it was, because if I saw her again, it would only be because the Picollis found her and wanted to kill her in front of me. That thought almost seized me up and froze me to the spot.
Selfish as it was, I couldn’t bring myself to wish she had never come into my life, but I did wish I’d never existed so she could have been safe. If the Picollis somehow didn’t know she was here then she had a chance, but I was a fucking dead man.
I crawled over to the kitchen area and shrugged off my jacket, leaving it on the floor. I took off my empty gun holster and put it in a drawer as the one-sided battle raged outside. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and looked up at the baseball bat ruefully. I was a fucking dead man.
Chapter 29
Jace
The gunfire quickly petered out to the occasional crack and pop, and then stopped altogether. I stood beside the door and adjusted my grip on the baseball bat, breathing deep and slow, each breath puffing out my cheeks as I listened to my heart booming in my chest.
I could hear voices out there, swearing, calling out instructions. They were getting closer. Then I could hear faint footsteps, people yelling out “clear!” and getting closer still.
A few minutes later, I heard careful footfalls on the steps I myself had walked up only half an hour ago, harsh whispers. I was gripping the bat so tight that the handle creaked as I held it poised, waiting for my pitch.
Soon, they were gathered on the other side of the door. Two low-level goons were arguing about who would go first until somebody higher up the food chain told one of them to shut the fuck up and get in there.
A split-second after I heard them count to three, the door burst open and I swung for the fences. Some asshole Picolli had his face turned to mush by that first hit, but the bat splintered apart just above my hands.
The first guy, already unconscious, fell backwards and became tangled up with the second soldier, who had been rushing forward to follow him. I jumped in with the broken bat and shoved the sharp end through his throat before he could lift his gun up in my direction again.
Blood spurted everywhere when I pulled my bat-turned-stake out, and he dropped his gun to use both of his hands to try and stem the flow of his life as it gushed out of him. He was even more of a dead man than I was.
A third soldier shouldered his way past the stabbing victim, and over the crumpled heap of the first one. He managed to block my first swing, grabbing my wrist to stop himself getting impaled like his friend, as I did the same with his gun hand.
He managed to push me back a step, before I brought my knee up into his nuts with testicle-popping force. His mouth opened wide as he gasped in air and I sensed a certain limpness in his arms.
Taking a massive risk, I let go of his gun hand and gave him a left hook to his dangling jaw, dislocating or breaking it so it hung off his face at a horrific angle and rocking his head to the side. His grip on my wrist failed, and I shoved the bat into the back of his throat through his open mouth.
As he fell, I had to admit he’d done his job though, because two more Picollis were through the door before I could block that choke point again. I charged forward, lashing out with a kick to one of their knees that resulted in a satisfying wet crack and made his leg bend the wrong way, as I blocked the second’s attempt to pistol-whip me.
It seemed the fucking idiots were under instructions to take me alive, or they would have got a shot off by now. Three more came through the door as I stomped on Mister-Broken-Leg’s head and turned his lights out for the time being.
One of them flew in and tackled me, putting me off balance as I brought the wooden stake down into his kidney area. He sank towards the ground, whimpering, but somebody else punched me just below the eye before I could retrieve my weapon.
I grunted and lashed out blindly in that direction, feeling teeth break and cut my knuckles. While I was blinking to clear my vision, somebody else tackled me, managing to bring me to the ground but also dislodging the splintered bat.
Whoever tackled me ended up falling into my guard, and I used my legs to put him off balance as he tried to rain punches down on me. Twisting to the side, I struck out at somebody else’s knee with the heel of my hand and heard a satisfying, if girly, scream from somewhere above.
On the backswing, I knocked out the person on top of me with a lucky elbow strike and then drove the stake into somebody else’s leg on the other side. Putting my feet on the hips of the unconscious sandbag on top of me, I kicked out, pushing both of us backwards in opposite directions.