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“Who the hell are you?” Angel said to the man who opened the door. He was a solidly built black man with a shaved head. As he stepped into the room, she revised her opinion. He wasn’t just solid, he was built like a rhinoceros.
“Jacob.” His soft voice stood at stark odds with his build. He stopped in the center of the room and stared at her. There was no kindness in his eyes, nor was there cruelty. He was a blank slate.
“You don’t look like a Jacob. You look more like a Rufus.” Perhaps she shouldn’t cop an attitude with these people, but she was resigned to the fact that they were going to kill her, so she really didn’t care what they thought of her. If her needling made them kill her sooner, fine. She was tired of being held captive.
Jacob didn’t answer. He hoisted her to her feet and walked her toward the door.
“You don’t say much. Are you stupid or something?”
“No,” he replied, just as softly as before. He steered her along a featureless hallway of gray stone that ended at a suit of armor.
“How the hell do you get lost in a freaking hallway? Remind me not to let you navigate next time. You probably don’t even stop to ask directions, do you?”
This time she didn’t even get a one-word answer out of him. He pushed up the face guard on the helmet, revealing a number pad, punched in a code, and stepped back as the suit of armor swung forward, revealing an elevator.
“Where am I, some kind of Scooby Doo haunted castle?” She realized her chatter was covering for a rising fear she thought she’d worked past early in her captivity. Truth was, she wasn’t eager to die, no matter what she told herself.
“You’re at Modron, on Bodmin Moor near Truro,” Jacob said as the elevator door closed and they began to descend.
“Okay, now I wish I’d paid attention in Geography class.” She’d hoped that might have elicited a smile or a chuckle from Jacob. Any sign of emotion would be welcome at this point. “So, where are you taking me?”
“Morgan wants to see you.”
“Captain Morgan? I could go for a drink right now.” Still no emotion.
The elevator came to a stop and the door opened onto an octagonal room with blue carpet, a television, and a rack of nasty looking weapons. Angel stepped out onto the soft carpet and looked around.
“Cool dungeon, bro.”
“It’s merely my exercise room.” She hadn’t noticed the woman standing off to the side. She was about Angel’s height, but fair and blonde. “This is where I hone myself to a fine edge.”
“I take it you’re Morgan.”
“I am. And you are no longer of use to us.” Morgan stared at her as if expecting a reply.
“Yeah, I don’t play well with others, especially when they kidnap me.”
“Fortunately for you, that time is at an end.”
Angel’s stomach lurched and she looked at the weapons rack. Was this where she was to die? She swallowed hard.
“Cool. So I can go, right?”
“Yes. After you fight me.” This time Morgan did smile, but there was neither laughter nor guile in her eyes. She was serious.
“That’s stupid. If you’re going to let me leave, just point me to the door and I’ll be gone. No need for anybody to get hurt.”
“That is my condition, the same one I give everyone who is of no use. Fight me. If you win, you leave by the front door. If I win, you leave by the back door. It’s all very simple.”
“Right. I win and your lackey shoots me in the back, I suppose.”
“No. I meant what I said. Leave with honor or leave in disgrace, but you will not leave until you fight me. Locke thinks you might afford me a challenge.”
“You’re crazy. I guess you want to fight with those swords and spears and crap?” Angel hoped the answer was “no.” Knife fighting she could handle. Maybe a spear, if it was anything like a bo staff. But a sword? No way. And she didn’t even recognize some of the weapons, which looked medieval and more than a little sinister.
“If you wish. I prefer hand to hand fighting,” Morgan said.
“Mano a mano, huh?” Angel stared into Morgan’s eyes for a full five seconds, waiting for any indication that this was all a big joke. No dice. As she stared, she reminded herself that this woman was apparently the boss, which meant she was the one responsible for Angel’s kidnapping. Now she stood there, the arrogant cow, wanting to fight her. Fine. If there was one thing Angel knew how to do, it was throw down. “All right. Take these cuffs off of me and let’s do this.”
Jacob removed her bonds and Angel took a moment to rub her wrists and work the kinks out of her shoulders. This wasn’t an ideal situation. She’d been captive for a few days now, and her body wasn’t at its best. There was nothing for it now. She took a deep breath, turned, and faced Morgan.
“Say when.”
Morgan raised her fists and flowed gracefully into a fighting stance. Despite her beauty queen appearance, she looked like she knew what she was doing. They circled one another, eyes locked.
Angel snapped a quick jab which Morgan evaded with ease. She’d obviously done this before. Angel had better take her seriously.
Morgan whipped a roundhouse kick that Angel checked and answered with a kick of her own that just missed. If she was fit and warmed up, she’d have landed it. Morgan grabbed Angel’s leg and tried to take her down, but Angel kept her balance and fought free. They traded kicks, to little effect, and Angel missed with a jab.
Now Morgan drove forward with a flurry of punches. Angel blocked them, landed an elbow that split Morgan’s cheek, and followed with a back fist that Morgan sprang away from. Angel pursued her backpedaling opponent, knocking her into the wall with a front kick, but Morgan danced away before Angel could close the gap.
It became a chess match. Morgan kept Angel at bay with kicks and jabs, always circling. She had correctly assessed that Angel was a brawler who hated this kind of fight, and thus refused to get in close. Angel’s lip was bleeding, her eye was puffy from taking several solid punches, and she was wearing down. Her arms felt like they were made of lead.
Morgan feinted a jab and, when Angel raised her hand to block, drove a side kick into Angel’s ribs, sending her sprawling to the carpet.
Knowing she was in serious trouble, Angel rolled to her feet before Morgan could pounce. Okay, time to get to work.
She stalked Morgan, watching the woman’s footwork, the way she held her hands, the movements that indicated she was about to strike, looking for a pattern. Morgan pivoted her back foot, a sign that a roundhouse kick was on the way.
As Morgan’s weight shifted to her front leg, Angel lashed out with a kick of her own that smacked into Morgan’s kneecap. Morgan grunted in pain and tried to circle, but her leg betrayed her and she staggered.
Angel sprang into the air and drove a knee into Morgan’s gut. Morgan absorbed the blow and caught Angel on the chin with a left hook, but there was no power behind it. Angel barely felt it as she grabbed Morgan by the back of the neck, held her head down, and punished her with a flurry of knees to the face and body.
Desperate, Morgan struck blindly, clawing at Angel’s face, but scratches weren’t going to stop her. And, if Morgan could fight like a girl, so could she. She grabbed a handful of blonde hair, slammed Morgan’s hair into the wall, and followed with three hard punches to the side of the head that wobbled Morgan, followed by an uppercut that put her on the ground.
Morgan struggled to rise, made it to her knees, and fell again. She raised her battered and bloodied face, glared at Angel, and whispered two words.
“Kill her.”