Cold Fire by Matt Hilton

Author:Matt Hilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448310685
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

Po had known worse days in his life but they’d been few.

There was the day his father died during a battle to defend his besmirched honor, after his best friend, Darius Chatard, stole his wife, but who’d sent out his adult sons to deal with the fallout. Po had avenged his dad’s murder but it ended with him incarcerated in Louisiana State Penitentiary, also known as Angola, and there were days inside that he’d rather forget. No less when another of the Chatard brothers tried avenging their slain sibling by stabbing out Po’s eyes with a shiv; Po carried the scars on his forearms to this day from defending his sight, before he was able to return the improvised knife to his would-be killer’s flesh. He’d been injured other times, once almost being gutted by a demented cartel enforcer, and on plenty of other occasions had taken contusions and broken bones, all in the service or defence of Tess, Pinky and others. He regretted the deaths of the Chatard brothers; in a fashion they were no different than he in fighting their fathers’ fight, so how could he hold on to any animosity? Besides, the old blood feud between Villeres and Chatards had been resolved several years ago after Po, Tess and the Chatards had united to save their abducted sister, Emilia.

Having his businesses targeted by arsonists had been hard to swallow and he’d thought that his classic Mustang being scorched was the icing on a crappy cake, but that was before having his ass kicked. He prided himself on being able to tussle with the toughest of men, and therefore be able to protect his friends and loved ones from harm. It was a crippling blow to his ego that the big man had throttled him with disdain. Sure, being cold-cocked from behind gave him ample excuse for not being on his best form, but nevertheless, he’d had his ass handed to him on a plate, and it didn’t sit well with him. Not one damn little piece.

Po could be a fatalist. But there were other times when he’d rage against the inevitable and go down fighting however poor his chances of victory. This was one of those times. He’d traveled there with Tess to collect Joanne and deliver her safely into the hands of her sister, Detective Ratcliffe. He was damned if he was going to allow a beating to stop him. Besides, he might have lost the battle, but the war was far from over. The fatalist in him told him he wouldn’t be happy until he’d gone at least another round with the hulk, hopefully this time with a clearer head than before.

He felt that the liberated pistol would’ve been wasted on him, because he wouldn’t shoot the big man. Not unless there was no other possible option. He’d have perhaps used his knife to nick him, maybe draw blood and smear some on his cheeks, before sheathing the blade and meeting the brute man-to-man, fist-to-fist.

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