Recruited: A King & Slater Origin Thriller (Lore of King & Slater Book 1) by Matt Rogers

Author:Matt Rogers [Rogers, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

18

This time, it’s completely different.

Immediate panic.

Instant carnage.

Not so much as a millisecond of conscious thought.

The only glimpse Slater receives of the second man is that he looks roughly similar to the first: big, broad, pale. Other than that, it’s a blur. The guy whips up a snub-nose revolver he already had out. Slater sees the barrel and swings an arm as fast as his mind can command his body. He swats the guy’s hand away, crushing it into the exterior cabin wall before the man can slip a finger inside the trigger guard. Too late Slater realises he carried out the instinctual reaction with his own gun hand, and both revolvers spin to the deck. One skids right over the edge of the railing; the other slides out of reach.

The guy thinks about making a lunge for Slater’s Rossi.

Slater doesn’t.

He scythes a fist recklessly at the man’s general profile, not wanting to waste time aiming where he’s throwing. His knuckles crash into the guy’s sternum, making a sound like beating a hollow drum. Molten fire flares in Slater’s hand as he pulls it back — maybe broken bones. Knuckles are delicate, he realises.

But his foe is worse off.

The guy collapses against the wall, spittle flying from his lips as he claws for breath, all the wind smashed out of him.

In the chaos, Slater immediately forgets his hand is likely shattered and swings it again at the guy’s unprotected face.

He ducks, and Slater’s knuckles smash into the wall.

The agony’s crippling. He can’t believe the pain that shoots up his arm, through his shoulder and chest, into his brain. He jerks his hand back again like he’s touched hot coals, but the sensation renders him momentarily useless. The man bursts forward like a pitbull and throws a blistering left-right-left combination. He’s nowhere near as physically imposing as Slater, but he actually has technique. He’s obviously spent more time in a boxing gym than the single session Slater partook in before being thrown out.

His fists crash off Slater’s frame at random.

Left to the body.

Right to the face.

Another left to the arm.

It’s the right hook that does all the damage. Half the world goes black as Slater feels a knuckle crack the bone below his eye. He’s immediately half-blind, and through the explosion of pain he feels his orbital swelling in real-time. It’s more uncharted territory. He’s been in fights but has never been badly hurt, never run into any sort of true adversity. He sees that now. Agony brings certain realisations out of the shadows, into the light.

The guy senses wounded prey and goes for the kill, throws a blistering left hook that seems fast enough to cave Slater’s face in, knock him clean unconscious.

If he doesn’t react, he’ll die here on this trawler.

The world doesn’t freeze, but it sure feels that way. Aided by life-or-death urgency, Slater feels his brain go into overdrive, and he churns through an avalanche of thoughts in an instant. He can make a choice here. Two options:

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