part0037

I slow as I reach the door to the armory, remembering the two guys I saw in there earlier. Holding the SMG in one hand, keeping it low, I pin myself against the wall and edge forward, stopping as I reach the doorway. I place a hand on the door and slowly push it open, leaning around as the gap widens, ready to shoot if necessary.

The room gradually reveals itself. Racks of weapons—assault rifles, submachine guns, pistols… even an RPG. Jesus! No sign of life, though. I bring my gun up as I step inside, immediately turning to look behind the door.

I take a moment to look around. This place has everything! Maybe Kazawa leaving the safety of his penthouse to come here wasn’t such a stupid idea after all. Well… it was , clearly, but at least his logic was sound.

As I turn to head back outside, I see a belt of grenades resting on a small table in the corner just inside the room.

I leave and continue along the corridor, heading for the stairs at the far end I presume lead up to the bridge. I have the SMG held ready, keeping it low, by my hip. As I begin the climb, I turn and move backward, allowing me to see behind the stairwell above me, and to the sides, making sure no one is waiting to blow my head off.

I turn slowly as I reach the top, looking around the room as I—

I fall back, losing my grip on my weapon. There was a guy to the right of the stairs, set back just ahead of me. He kicked my gun hand away and got a couple of solid shots to my body before I even realized I was in a fight.

I forget the gun. I scramble to my feet in time to block another kick aimed at my left side, just above the hip. I leaned into it, bending my arm so he kicked the point of my elbow.

Still hurt, but had it connected properly, it would’ve dropped me for sure.

I’m assuming this guy is one of the two from the armory. I need to remember he has a friend somewhere.

He swings a wild left at my head as he retracts his leg. I move right, ducking under it and countering with a right hook. The guy leans back, and I hit nothing but air. As I follow through, I feel a short uppercut connect with my ribs, which staggers me back again.

Either this guy’s lightning fast, or I’m just slow and tired.

Whatever the case, I can’t waste my time and energy fighting him.

I’m down on one knee, nursing my chest. He’s a few feet away, composing himself and smiling like someone who knows he’s winning.

I take a quick look around as I suck in one painful breath after another. This is an open area, which I’m guessing is used for navigational purposes. There’s a large table dominating the left side of the room, parallel to the stairs, with an assortment of maps and paperwork spread across it. Behind the railing that surrounds the opening of the stairwell is a door that must lead outside. On the opposite side is another door, stood open, with a small corridor beyond that doglegs left.

I assume that’s the bridge.

The main issue I have is this guy standing in my way.

I slowly get to my feet and step back into a loose fighting stance. His smile broadens, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

I try to block out the pain. Urge my brain to ignore it and focus on something useful. Like my training. Which is extensive and lethal.

This guy likes his kicks. His punches are effective but less disciplined. Both require space to throw them. Which means I need to close the gap.

I look him up and down.

He’s light on his feet and has a confident fighting stance. His guard is competent, suggesting training. No gun, which is strange but a blessing. He’s shorter than me, younger than me… definitely faster than me. His power comes from technique, not from brute strength. If I can take away his ability to execute his technique…

I step toward him. He moves to meet me but hangs back, clearly looking to maintain the distance he needs. But this time, I skip a couple of paces and close the gap, leaving just a few inches between us. He drops his shoulder, preparing to throw a hook to my left side. But this time, I’m close enough that he’ll miss if he swings it. I don’t know if he’s realized that, but it doesn’t matter now. I’m too close. Speed and technique mean nothing if my hands are around your throat.

As he throws his hip into the punch, I lean into him, grabbing his throat with my left hand and pulling on the back of his jacket with my right. He loses his balance as I push and pull him into position against the railing of the stairs.

I force him back, causing his spine to bend over the railing by applying more pressure to his throat. Then I bring a knee up, slamming it into his stomach. He wheezes as the air leaves him, but the position of his body makes it hard for him to catch his breath.

I knee him again, this time allowing him to keel over. I drop to one knee, smashing the point of my elbow into the base of his skull on my way down. He flattens out on the floor. I’m breathing hard from the exertion, but I can’t stop now. I need to finish this, to make sure I have one less enemy to worry about.

I reach down and drag him upright with both hands. He’s barely conscious, and it takes a lot of effort to hold him steady. I place one hand on his head and grab a fistful of jacket with the other. Then, with every ounce of strength I can muster, I slam him face-first into the railing.

The crack of his cheekbone smashing is sickening.

His face immediately swells, discolored from the impact.

I toss him unceremoniously over the railing. He lands headfirst on the metal stairs before rolling into a motionless heap at the bottom.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief, which hurt way more than it should.

That took more effort than I realistically had the strength for, which means dealing with Miley will now be that much harder to do.

I focus on my breathing as I try to regain some composure. It doesn’t matter though. She has to die tonight. No one does to me what she did and gets away with it. I need her gone, so I’m not running and fighting for the rest of my life. I need her gone, so Ruby isn’t, either. But I have to admit, this is feeling more and more like a one-way trip right now.

I turn to head for the doorway I’m hoping leads up to the bridge and see another guy pacing with vicious intent toward me.

My shoulders slump forward with momentary resignation.

I look him in the eye. I see a knife in his hand.

Well, you can fuck off.

I take one step toward him and swing my leg out as if kicking a forty-yard field goal. I connect so completely with his balls that his pelvic bone hurts my foot.

Probably not as much as he’s hurting right now, though.

He stops dead in his tracks and drops the knife. His eyes bulge. He leans over and vomits, then sinks to his knees, clutching his groin with both hands. I wince out of sympathy before taking another step and smashing my knee into his face. I feel the thin cartilage buckle beneath the impact. He slumps to the side, unconscious and bleeding from what’s left of his nose.

I take a quick look around, but the lighting is poor in here. I can’t see the SMG I dropped anywhere.

Screw it. I have one bullet left. Luckily, it’s got Miley’s name all over it.

I walk over to the doorway opposite, climb the few steps, and follow the short corridor around to the left. No more than a few feet, and I see the bridge in front of me. There’s no door, just a threshold. From here, it appears empty.

I move to the doorway and take a look around. There’s a door directly opposite, which leads outside. On my left is the large window that overlooks the main deck. The remains of the speedboat are still burning nicely. The flames cast a flickering, hellish glow across the boat, highlighting certain features while enhancing the shadows around others.

No sign of movement that I can see.

On my right is the helm—a large, chrome wheel surrounded by a dashboard and control panels with a walnut finish. Another large window looks out at the ocean ahead. Despite the light flooding from the front of the boat, visibility is poor. Nothing but a vast expanse of dark.

I don’t know where Miley is, but—

What the hell was that?

I’m on my back, out in the short corridor, hurting everywhere and looking up at the doorway to the bridge as Miley drops down.

She must’ve had herself pinned flat up there, just above the doorway, where I wouldn’t have picked her up in my peripheral vision. She swung down and planted both feet firmly into my chest, the impact of which, coupled with the surprise, sent me flying backward.

Christ. She’s like a fucking ninja.

She stands over me, staring down with a sick smile. She’s still wearing her black catsuit with heeled combat boots. She has a utility belt around her waist but no visible weapons.

I scurry backward, so I can use the wall to get myself back up to a vertical base. I’ve experienced her wrath when I was at full strength, and it nearly killed me. Right now, I’m operating at around twenty percent, and that’s being generous. I have to figure out a way to stall her and survive long enough to find an advantage. I just need to—

She shrieks with fury as she lunges at me.

I just about manage to get my arms up to protect my face as she lands, knee-first, on my chest. I grunt as she presses all her weight down on me. She screams again—a guttural, primal cry of fury—as she rains down blow after blow, overwhelming my body and arms with vicious punches. She has a strength that doesn’t belong on her frame. Her body is slight, toned. In another life, she could be a model. Yet, when she connects with a punch, it has the power of ten people behind it.

She’s starting to break through my guard. A few have landed and done some major harm. I don’t have my mask on. My face is already broken, which means it won’t take much to do some permanent damage.

The top of my head is resting against the wall. She’s straddling my body but sitting high up, almost on my chest. One knee is tucked beneath her, digging into me. Her other leg is outstretched to the side for balance. My hips are mostly free.

This is going to hurt, but…

I buck with my waist, thrusting up as hard as I can. The pressure on my back is immense, but it works. She wasn’t expecting it and is thrown forward. Her head connects with the wall, and she rolls away, allowing me a moment of reprieve.

I grant myself one deep breath.

I scramble upright and dash onto the bridge. I hear her quick steps behind me. As I make it into the middle of the room, I don’t bother checking first. I simply spin around, counterclockwise, swinging a Hail Mary right haymaker. I didn’t expect it to connect; I just wanted to give her something to think about.

Well, it didn’t connect.

She leans back and catches my arm in both hands at the wrist. As she does, she jumps and brings both legs up. One rests easily on my left shoulder. The other snakes around me, just under my outstretched arm. I feel her cross her ankles behind me as she leans back farther.

I adjust my front leg for balance. She’s now hanging upside-down by her legs, pulling on my arm. I immediately feel the pressure on my carotid artery. A wave of dizziness hits me. I’m wrapped in a hold similar to a rear naked choke, which puts people to sleep.

I can’t afford to lose consciousness. If I do, I’m never waking up.

I plant my feet and clasp my hands together, using my back and my arms to try and pull her up.

I haven’t got the strength left.

My vision is starting to blur. Breathing is harder. I feel my cheeks flush.

I stare into Miley’s eyes. She stares back, her wild gaze laced with rage. I see the focus and commitment of someone who is dedicated to a single task.

Well… not today, bitch.

My breathing becomes short and fast. I’m willing myself to lose control. To let the usually well-managed flow of adrenaline burst through the barriers and consume me.

I bend both knees a little. Not enough to lose my balance but enough to give me a boost.

I close my eyes. Clench my jaw. Tense every muscle until my body is wracked with pain. Then I keep tensing until the pain stops registering.

My eyes open. I stare at her again. This time, her gaze relaxes. Replaced by concern. Concern because I know what the look in my eyes right now is like.

Through gritted teeth, I snarl and grunt and unleash every ounce of strength I have left. My body might never forgive me, but I can live with that.

In one movement, I push up with my legs, pull with my back, and lift with my arms…

I yell out as I finally hoist her up, holding her for a long moment, frozen in a violent, almost erotic embrace. Then I spin around and slam her against the window.

The thud of her back and head connecting with the unforgiving glass is almost sickening. She doesn’t relinquish her grip, but I feel it loosen. I step back and lunge forward again. Same impact.

This time, she relents.

As her feet hit the floor, I wrap a hand around her throat and slam her head against the window again. It cracks, sending a spiderweb shooting out around her like a deadly halo.

I stagger backward, resting on the helm. Miley drops to one knee, dazed. The glass around the epicenter of the crack is blood-red.

“You won’t win,” she says, practically spitting the words at me. “You’re going to die. I’ve spent too long… too much… I won’t lose now.”

I manage a weak smile. “Miley, you lost days ago.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“When you left me and Ruby trapped in that club with a bomb. That’s when you lost because you showed me you don’t have what it takes to kill me.”

“Yes, I do! I’ll end you right now, you bastard!”

I shake my head. “No, you won’t. You can’t. If you could, you’d have done it on your live stream, when I was tied up and helpless. I’m not saying you don’t want to. I’m not even saying you’re not physically capable of it. I’m saying you just can’t. You don’t have that thing inside you that allows you to take that final step over the line and finish it. You’re too… human.”

“What? Shut up! Just… shut up! Stop it!”

“Your mother had it. She was a good assassin. I respected Dominique a lot. She was cut from the same cloth as me. But you… you’ve got too much to live for to leave such a dark stain on your soul at your age.”

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to say her name, do you hear me? Don’t you say her fucking name!”

I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees, catching my breath. When I look over at her again, I can see her eyes starting to go. The slightly vacant stare. The struggle to stop them rolling back in her skull. The head wound is taking its toll on her. Weakening her.

I stand straight, focusing on my own struggle to not waver on the spot. I feel warm blood pulsing down my face. I feel the pinch with every breath that suggests broken ribs—either fresh ones or recurring injuries. I can’t even tell anymore. I’m a mess, and I feel unsure how far away from death I actually am.

But this isn’t over yet.

I meant what I said. I don’t think she has it in her to kill me. But that’s not to say she won’t pursue me forever. She’ll just hire someone else to finish me off. And when that person fails, she’ll hire another. And another. And another. It won’t ever stop, not as long as she’s breathing.

She gets to her feet. Her own equilibrium works against her as she rocks back and forth on the spot. I move around, putting my back to the door that leads outside. She follows suit, moving to block the other doorway.

I drop back into a fighting stance. I lift my arms up to resemble a guard, but it won’t be as effective as I need it to be. It’s merely a formality, I guess. See, I realized something in my moment of respite back there. While there’s no denying her strength and ferocity, she’s still a slim girl who’s not old enough to drink. Science dictates that, physiologically speaking, I’m simply bigger and stronger. She beat the holy hell out of me just then, opening up a lot of wounds she herself caused only a few days ago. But with one brutal impact, I did just as much damage to her.

Imagine what I’ll be able to do when I’m not supporting her entire body weight.

There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel good about it. She’s just a kid. But you reap what you sow. She dedicated years of her life to learning how to kill to me. Then she spent a considerable amount of money executing an elaborate plan to do just that.

If you want to play the grown-up’s game, you have to be prepared to lose as well as win. You don’t get a medal for participating in the real world.

She charges at me, wild and screaming, winding up a blow with her right hand that, if I’m being honest, I probably wouldn’t get up from if it landed. But she’s injured and slow, and it’s going to get her killed.

As she nears me, I step toward her and throw a punch of my own. She doesn’t see it coming, blinded by her own purpose. I connect with the side of her jaw about as hard as I’ve ever hit anything in my life—even with my injuries.

Her head snaps back. I see the lights go out in her eyes. She falls to the floor, rigid and finished.

I let my head roll back. I look to the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh.

Now, I need to get out of here.

Ever since I left the hospital, I’ve been convinced that this was only ever going to end one way. That me and Ruby getting out of that club before it blew was simply delaying the inevitable. For me, at least. But now I’m here… Kazawa’s dead, Miley’s done… I realize I don’t actually have a way off this boat. I never thought I would survive, so now that I have, I’m a little screwed.

I move to the helm. I’ve never sailed a boat in my life. I have no idea what half of these dials and buttons and levers do. I see a handle that looks like it might be the throttle, but I don’t particularly want to go any faster.

If I can find a cell phone, maybe I can call Ruby or Ray, see if they can…

I hear a noise. Confused, I look around.

You have to be kidding me…

Miley’s not dead. She’s lay on her back, raised slightly, aiming a gun unsteadily at me.

I sigh. “Look, kid, don’t be—”

She pulls the trigger. The impact of the bullet hitting my right shoulder registers almost instantly. I stagger back, quickly losing my footing. I don’t feel anything from the gunshot. Time has slowed to a crawl, which is usually my spider sense telling me I’m missing something important. Maybe the fact I can’t feel anything is a bad sign.

Maybe this is it. Maybe I’ve finally been beaten down enough that I can no longer fight back. Maybe I’m done.

As I fall back, I reach behind me for my Raptor.

Well, if I’m done, you can bet your ass I’m taking her with me.

I aim as best I can and pull the trigger as I hit on the floor. The landing jolts my body, and the gun flies from my grip. My breathing is shallow. I lift my head and look over to see if I hit her.

I see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She’s holding her hand up to her head.

Did I… did I get her?

I shuffle my body around and use my left arm to push myself up on all fours. I crawl toward her, pausing every couple of feet to press my hand to my shoulder in a feeble attempt to heal myself.

I reach her and stare down into her dark eyes. They’re wide and full of fear. Her breathing is fast. The right side of her head and her shoulder is drenched in blood. There’s a thin but significant spray behind her, covering the floor. Her hand is clamped to the side of her neck.

I reach down and lift her hand away, to see the wound.

It wasn’t the best shot I’ve ever taken. I should’ve put it between her eyes. It went through and through, but appears to have nicked an artery on the way.

I place her hand back over it.

“Keep pressure applied to it, and you’ll slow the bleeding,” I say to her. “Move at all and you’ll bleed out in a minute. Maybe two.”

Miley reaches over and grabs my arm with her left hand, just below the fresh bullet hole in my shoulder.

“This… this isn’t… over, Adrian,” she manages.

I calmly remove her hand. “Yes, it is. You tried playing a dangerous game with the most dangerous player, and you lost. Now you get to lie here and think about that for the rest of your life. All thirty minutes of it. Goodbye, Miley.”

I push myself up, holding my right arm close to my body as I apply my own pressure to the bullet wound. I shuffle back over to the helm, aware that the adrenaline is subsiding and I’m starting to feel every single thing that’s happened to me in the last twelve hours with mind-blowing clarity.

I need to find a way off this boat.

Miley coughs and splutters. I look over to see her staring at me.

“No… Adrian. It’s not… over.” Her gaze shifts to the door behind me that leads outside. She smiles, which looks more like a grimace. “Fuck… you.”

That doesn’t sound good.

I move over to the door and look out the small window.

It’s dark. I can’t see shit. I can barely make out the ocean around us. I can tell it’s still stormy. Not sure if it’s raining or if that’s the mist from the sea all over the windows. Thunder is still rumbling, though. And lightning. Just seen a flash in the sky, behind the clouds. It lit up the ocean for a long moment. I could see—

I look back at Miley. She’s laughing.

There are two boats docking with the port side of the yacht. Big things, like mini hovercrafts. There was at least six people on each one. Maybe more—I only caught a brief look.

I can’t fight them all. I can barely move.

I look back out. It’s too dark to see anything again now, but I reckon I have no more than a couple of minutes before they swarm the bridge.

I stare at the floor until my vision glazes over. I’m running through every option I have.

What have I got? What have I done? What do I need? What can I do?

I refocus as the only path I have left to walk becomes clear. I think, subconsciously, I knew it would always come to this.

I scoop up my empty Raptor and holster it behind me. I turn and stride past Miley, not even bothering to look at her as I leave the bridge and head back in the navigation room. I walk with haste. What I must do now isn’t something I’m happy about. I know that if I slow down at all, logic will take over, and I’ll stop completely. I can’t afford for that to happen.

I don’t want to do this, but I do want to live. I want to see Ruby again. I want to be happy. And all that trumps the insane thing I’m about to do.

I quickly descend the steps down to the starboard corridor and duck into the first room. The armory. I ignore the guns. I don’t have the energy for a firefight with a dozen more Yakuza soldiers, even if I do have the bullets. I grab the belt of grenades and head back out, taking the steps up the main deck.

I have to be quick and quiet here. I can’t afford to—

An orchestra of gunfire erupts over the noise of the storm. Countless muzzle flashes flicker in and out of existence, seemingly all around me.

I crouch, pausing for a split-second as I consider retreating back to the armory.

I’m done. Whether this works or not, I’m done here.

I take a deep breath. And another.

I look over at the door to the rec room and kitchen, illuminated by the persistent flames of the wrecked speedboat. It’s maybe twenty-five, thirty feet…

The gunfire isn’t even pausing for breath.

Here goes nothing. Or everything. Whatever.

Grenade belt in hand, I set off running as fast as my body will allow. I get a slight boost from the incentive of not wanting to be torn to shreds by bullets, but I’m still nowhere near as fast as I can be.

Bullets pepper the deck beneath my feet and ricochet off everything around me that’s metal. I raise my arm to cover my head, as if that will make any difference.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I make it to the crates, but I don’t stop or even slow down. I jump onto the raised platform and throw the door open to the rec room.

I stagger slightly, hit by a wave of gas. The smell collides with me like a brick wall.

Didn’t think I made the hole in the piping that big…

I take one deep breath, which makes me feel a little woozy, drop my head, and continue running at full speed across the room. As I reach the door on the other side, I pull a pin from one of the grenades and throw the belt down into the engine room as I sprint past.

I run along the narrow corridor.

I push through the door at the end, shoulder first, bursting out onto the walkway overlooking the stern.

Without breaking stride or concerning myself with whether I can physically do it, I place a hand on the railing. I jump up onto it, planting my feet for balance.

I push off as hard as I can. The height helps me clear the loading space below, where I first boarded. I bring both arms up in an arc, so my hands meet above my head. I reach the apex of my dive when—

The explosion behind me sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

The noise and the power behind it are terrifying.

The force of the blast throws me farther than I ever could have jumped. I twist in mid-air, milliseconds before I hit the water, in time to see the rec room and the chopper parked on top of it disappear in a small mushroom cloud of fire and devastation.

I land in the water shoulders-first, plunging into the icy depths.

The trick in cold water is to not panic. The more you move, the faster you bring on cardiac arrest from the shock to your system. You have to remain calm and keep movement to a minimum.

Not an issue for me. I couldn’t move anymore, even if I wanted to.

The heat from the explosion feels as if it’s boiling the ocean around me. I lie motionless, holding on to the last breath I think I’ll ever take. A rippling haze of orange and yellow dominates the world around me.

I feel myself floating. An overwhelming sense of peace floods into my body.

The world grows dark.

I told Kazawa that, one day, I knew I would meet the person destined to take me out. Perhaps today was that day, after all. I feel nothing. No pain. No suffering. Just… sweet, peaceful nothing.

The world seems mostly dark now.

I feel myself smile.

Not a bad way to go, I guess.

I see a bright light above me. Brilliant and white. They say that’s what you see, at the end. That you should move toward it. Well, it seems to be moving toward me, but given I’m probably drowning, maybe some higher power is taking pity on me and helping me out a little.

It’s more than I deserve.

An image of Ruby flashes into my mind. I see her floating in front of me, as clear as day. Her smile. Her laugh. Her green eyes.