The Wicked by Matt Rogers

Author:Matt Rogers [Rogers, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-03T22:00:00+00:00

14

Slater turned his head to the side and took the blow to his ear — sound exploded in his eardrum and rippled through his skull, stunning him, making him slow to react. He had the Glock in an upward trajectory but it caught against the body on top of him — it was another man clad in black, bleeding profusely from the arm that had punched Slater in the head. Slater took one look at the situation and realised the guy had been shot in the forearm, disarmed by a stray shot. He’d taken cover against one of the doors and waited silently for an enemy to appear, instead of snatching for a discarded weapon and revealing his position.

It had worked.

Slater begrudgingly had to admit that the guy had pulled it off.

Now there was a half-second to discern who would live, and who would die. Slater had lost count of the number of times he’d found himself in similar situations, and here he was again. But he’d made it this far in life. He never hesitated. Not for a second.

That was how he won.

As the hitman — a bald Mexican guy with dilated pupils, his face a mask of sweat — loaded up for another blow to the ear, Slater bucked his hips, levering enough space to bring the Glock up between them. He tilted the barrel in an upward direction and the hitman spotted the gunmetal and recoiled, horror spreading across his features. But he threw the elbow all the same, and it crunched into Slater’s jaw with pinpoint accuracy.

Oh, no.

Accuracy trumped power, nine times out of ten. An all-out crushing blow to the wrong area could be dealt with, compartmentalised, handled later. A perfectly placed half-punch to a man’s chin could destroy his fine motor skills, rattling his brain in just the right way to knock him senseless.

Slater moved to scramble to his feet, but suddenly his legs lost all capacity to move. It was like the previous night, only twice as bad. He got one foot underneath himself and then his head drooped down as if yanked by an invisible marionette string, and his weight lurched too far in one direction and he sprawled across the nearest couch, sinking into the cushions, holding onto the Glock for dear life but nowhere near possessing the mental capacity to aim it.

He saw the hitman’s eyes flare up, recognising how badly he’d hurt Slater. There was nothing more terrifying in the world. The sicario’s limbs took on a life of their own, supercharging with opportunity, sensing the kill shot incoming. The man pounced, loading up another elbow, this time putting all his weight into it so he could come down with two hundred pounds of bodyweight on Slater’s throat, crushing his windpipe as he scrambled for consciousness.

Well, there it is.

Nothing you can do.

Say your goodbyes now, Will…

All Slater could do was think of the consequences. Neurons fired in his brain but found nothing to connect themselves too, like all five of his senses were suffocating in quicksand.

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