As he connected, Edinson lunged forward, drilling his shoulder into Sam’s torso, stepping forward and shunting Sam across the table, sending him spinning across the wood and collapsing onto the floor below. Both impacts drove the wind from his body and Sam gasped for his breath, scurrying to his feet as Edinson circled the table, his eyes fixed on his victim.

Sam used the chair to haul himself to his feet, and in one motion, lifted it and swung. Edinson threw up his arm, the chair shattering against his bone and Sam followed it up with a vicious stamp to the knee. Edinson wobbled and dropped forward, and Sam jumped forward, swinging his hip and drilling a knee straight into the man’s jaw.

The crack was audible, and Edinson slumped against the table. His eyes widened in shock.

Not pain.

But disbelief that Sam had floored him.

His jaw swung loosely, the blow from Sam breaking it clean, but the man showed little pain. Using the table for leverage, he pulled himself to his feet. Sam, taking the few moments to search for his gun, finally laid eyes on it, just as Edinson crushed his stomach with a thunderous right hook. Sam hunched forward and Edinson grabbed him by the throat with one meaty hand and his fingers crushed inwards. Sam instantly felt his airway close up and as he gasped for air and struck Edinson with flailing fists, he felt Edinson’s hand press against his back.

In a sickening display of strength, Edinson hoisted Sam off his feet, and then drove him back first into the solid table. Sam collided painfully with the wood, his head snapping back and bouncing off the table. Woozily, he gasped for air but Edinson gripped the edge of the table with both hands and flipped it, sending Sam hurtling to the ground, the wood crashing down on his previously lacerated spine.

Sam yelled in agony, and then his focus snapped to the bar.

Resting against one of the stools was his gun.

With every fibre of his being, he began to drag himself towards the weapon, hoping Edinson would give him the split-second window he needed. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that hand to hand, he would die.

Edinson was a fighter, built and honed in the Devil’s pit of a prison that he’d spent half of his adult life.

The man was a cold-blooded killer and judging from the punishment he was putting Sam through his intention was to make this as painful as possible.

The plan was clear.

Sam needed to get to the gun.

Otherwise, he would be beaten to death.

As he crawled within a few metres of the weapon, he felt a solid boot connect with his ribs, sending him rolling to the side. Another connected, his insides compressing under the vicious blow. With his stomach turning, Sam could feel the surge of vomit threatening to rush to the surface.