Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
Feels like I swallowed hot embers. My left eye burns like shit, too, and I tear up right away. Immediately he’s on top of me. I stumble back and get knocked off my feet by the corner of the mattress. I swing blindly with my right hand, and it hits something hard. His head? He grips the wrist of my left arm like it’s going to break, then forces some wrestling move on me, and I’m flat on my back. He pins me down. Mace didn’t hit me direct, mostly in the left eye and on the side of my face, so despite the burn I can see a bit. His knees pin my arms down, and his weight on my torso keeps me in place. His left hand squeezes the right side of my neck. I see him raise a folding tactical knife with his right hand.
I can see the gun holstered on his right side, but he wants to keep things quiet.
Fuck! I’m a big guy, but I don’t have the weight on him.
“Where’s Robby Givens?” he asks too calmly.
“Who?” I return.
“Graham Biddy!”
“I don’t know who the fuck—” Realizing how bad that sounds ’cause I’m in his motel room.
He strikes down with the knife, then searing hot pain rips into my left shoulder. I kick blindly with my right foot to try to get him off balance.
“You know who I’m talking about. Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
My right hand is pinned down hard by the wrist, so the palm is facing up. I thrust my body up one more time, trying to buck him off, and manage to slide my hand back, get my thumb under his thumb. With everything I can muster I twist, hear his thumb snap out of place. He yelps, jerks back, taking the tactical knife out of my shoulder at the same time. I hit him hard on the left chin with the butt of my right hand. Stuns him a bit, but that’s about it.
He has years on me, but he’s built like a linebacker.
A punch I didn’t see coming lands on the right side of my chin, throws me back, and he drops me down with his weight so I’m completely on my back, his left knee pinning my right arm down again. I struggle to hold his right hand back, gripping him by the wrist, fighting the searing pain in my shoulder, like the knife hit bone.
He smacks me hard on the chin again with the side of his right hand. Almost see white light. Nearly gone. His right hand, holding the knife, breaks free of my grip, and he lunges it toward my chest, but I block it with the open palm of my left hand.
A sacrifice.