Justice

by Dustin Stevens

  “As I’m sure you remember me,” Koob said. Jutting his chin toward her, he added, “Just because I can’t see yours doesn’t mean I don’t they’re there.”

  Staring back at him, Rye felt her own face grow rigid, matching the stare of the man standing across from her.

  He was right. Her scars were tucked up along her ribcage, hidden from view, but that didn’t mean they weren’t in plain sight every time she stood in front of a mirror.

  Or donned a bikini.

  Or had to punch some asshole that let his fingers linger a bit too long on the ridge of scar tissue slashing across at an angle.

  A host of comments came to mind, witty one-liners, things she had thought about over the years, ways to best kick off their encounter.

  To warn him this one would be to the death.

  There was no need, though, he just aware of that fact as she was.

  Instead, her only comment was directed at Blue, her chin touching her shoulder as she said, “Stay.”

  The word still hung in the air, fresh from her lips, as Rye moved forward, twisting her body to the side, her shoulders turning, reducing her surface area by half. Extending her hands into knife edges before her, she used her left to guard, her right behind it, ready to snipe at any opening.

  Taking the movement as a sign to start, Koob did the same, his hands curling into fists, both looking like small boulders as they swayed before him, swinging a few inches to each side just beneath his chin. Coming straight ahead, he didn’t bother with the circle he had employed on the driveway, moving right for her, his intent clear.

  Which was fine.

  Rye felt exactly the same way.

  The first blow was a straight jab from Koob, a quick snap that pulled up just inches from her nose, delivered with enough force to move the air around her. Pulling back like a piston, he came in with a second one, circling right behind it with a hard hook.

  Jerking away from the jab, Rye raised her right arm, protecting her head as the hook landed flush on her shoulder, a spasm bursting through her deltoid, running up the length of her arm.

  On contact, a mighty bark rolled from Blue, the sound thunderous, just a few feet away.

  “Stay!” Rye called, her body shifting a few inches to the side under the weight of the punch. Rotating on the ball of her left foot, she swung her right leg in behind it, a sweep kick that drew air, pushing Koob back.

  Completing another rotation, she came in hard with a slicing chop, swinging it straight for Koob’s head.

  Halfway there he caught it, clamping his hand over her wrist, countering with an uppercut aimed at her ribs.

  Twisting her arm hard in the opposite direction, she felt his rough grip pass over her skin, the rest of her body contorting in the same direction, his punch skimming across her skin, just inches from her scar.

  A second searing pain burst through her, this one causing her oblique to squeeze tight, running from her stomach up behind her shoulder.

  Rotating through with the momentum of it, she spun out a few steps, again gaining a bit of separation. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she watched as he turned to face her, a bit of a smile crossing his face.

  Two indirect shots, and already he was getting cocky.

  And pissing her off.

  Extending her hands out as far as they would go, Rye pulled them back into tight balls, abandoning the knife edges. No longer was this a time to try and match styles with someone, a martial arts dance predicated on training and precision.

  This was a brawl, the kind that required copious amounts of rage and power.

  Flashing the image of Nora Heatherington through her mind, of the sheet being pulled back, of the young girl’s skin so pale it was almost translucent, Rye let the animosity it brought with it flood through her system.

  Used it to push her into a higher plane than any amount of personal hatred ever could.

  Coming in a third time, she allowed Koob to start the action, knowing his ego wouldn’t let her dictate the pace any further, that his overly muscled frame wasn’t as well equipped for playing defense.

  Returning to the same old-time prizefighter style that he seemed so intent on, he came straight forward, leading with his left, another straight jab.

  Knowing it was coming, the bastard as predictable now as he was years before, Rye gritted her teeth.

  It was going to hurt, but it was going to be worth it.

  Instead of pulling back from the jab, she slide-stepped forward toward it. Dropping her right hand by her hip, she saw his fist coming for her and snapping her hips, used centrifugal force to pull her fist through in a sharp arc.

  The shortened distance between them meant his punch was not at full extension when it landed, his knuckles mashing into her lips, catching just the bottom tip of her nose along with it. On contact, she could taste blood as it spread over her teeth, could feel the warmth seep from her nostrils.

  Paid no attention to either as her uppercut caught him square beneath the chin.

  With his mouth parted from the exertion of throwing the punch, there was nothing to stop the power of her punch as it snapped his lower jaw up. Mashing his lower teeth into his top ones, the sound of them snapping together was almost deafening, the cracking sound distinct.

  Going back a half-step, Koob put just enough distance between them, allowing Rye to move in again, driving her leg out before her. The ball of her foot landing square in his solar plexus, she could hear the breath escape through his mouth.

  Pitching forward just slightly, the bridge of his nose was left exposed. Bracing off her opposite foot, Rye drove her knee straight forward, aimed at the bony ridge extended her way.

  And caught nothing but air, her momentum lifting her a few inches into the air.

  A journey that was ended abruptly by Koob’s arm stabbing across her chest, using the hold to drive her back to the ground, her shoulders hitting the earth hard.

  For an instant, bright lights erupted before her eyes, pops of alternating color dancing with each blink.

  Just as fast, they began to dissipate, Blue’s barking echoing through her ears, pulling her back to the present just in time to barely see the dark heel of Koob’s boot as it drove down.

  Her only recourse to roll as hard as she could, Rye twisted her body away, the cool moisture of the grass brushing against her bare shoulders. Three full rotations she crossed over the ground, coming to a stop and rising to a knee to see Koob standing and watching her.

  Raising a hand to her face, she pulled it back to see her fingertips smeared red, feeling droplets as they hung from the underside of her chin.

  A few feet away, Koob held his jaw, working the lower half of his face to either side, red tendrils creeping down from his mouth.

  The years had clearly been good to them both, each having achieved a higher level of technical proficiency, an increase in savagery to match.

  Standing toe to toe with a man like Koob would be a good test of Rye’s capabilities, if she had even the slightest inkling of interest in testing such a thing.

  Which she did not, dick measuring contests something that were reserved for frat boys and guys with self-esteem issues.

  All she cared about was winning, which meant it was time to begin exploiting the advantages she had.

  It’s not like there was a consolation prize at the end of this for the person that put up a good fight.

  “Come on, Rye, don’t be stupid,” she muttered, the words just barely audible in her own ears as she pushed herself to her feet. Casting a glance to Blue, she rubbed the blood from her fingers onto the side of her pants, making like she was laboring, letting Koob see her.

  As she began to move, he released the grip on his lower mandible, sizing her up for another go.

  Each knowing there would only be so many more.

  Taking back the lead, Rye rushed in first. Feigning another direct path, she went right at him, giving every indication of a full assault, a snarl on her face for effect.r />
  Coming straight back at her, Koob raised his hands, readying for the onslaught.

  One she had no intention of going through with.

  Jerking her shoulders forward at the last moment, giving the indication of meeting him head-on, Rye watched for him to commit, his weight shifting onto his toes, body poised for an overhand right.

  Waiting until he was too far gone, his body imbalanced, she dropped straight to the ground, wheeling around in a tight circle, snapping her leg out behind her, swinging it through hard.

  For an instant, it cut the air, unimpeded, before connecting solidly with the soft tissue behind his knees. With a grunt, he fell forward, his hands bracing his weight, his knees burrowing into the soft grass an instant later.

  No sooner had they hit than he pushed his left out to the side, extending it an angle, ready to use it to rise back to full height.

  Seeing her opening, the sequence playing out just as she’d trained, exactly as she hoped it would, Rye was on him. Raising her foot to knee-height, she drove it straight down into his extended leg.

  Under her boot, she could feel the kneecap buckle, could hear the tendons snap. Pulling back, she raised it again, a yell erupting from deep within as she drove her heel down.

  This time, there was no resistance from the joint, the leg folding in on itself, the lower half lying flat on the ground, a perfect right angle from the rest of his body.

  In response, a single grunt was emitted from her opponent.

  “Blue!” she screamed, the animal bursting forward, finally able to uncoil the nervous energy that had been rippling through him. Hurtling himself across the expanse between them, he flew straight at Koob, making no effort to slow as the gap decreased.

  With his left leg useless, Koob propped himself up, bracing for the impact from the giant beast.

  So intent on contact, he didn’t notice as Rye stepped around behind him. As one hand planted itself atop his bare skull, the other cupping the underside of his chin.

  In most instances, it takes fifty-six pounds of pressure generating up to twenty times as much torque to snap the human neck, to wrench the skull free from the cranial axis sitting atop the spine.

  For Koob, a bit more was needed to accommodate his muscle mass and the tension he carried, waiting for Blue.

  Not that it mattered, Rye putting as much concentrated force - buoyed by years of venom and renewed wrath – as she could muster into it.

  By the time Blue made contact, toppling Koob over, tearing into his body with teeth and claws, blood striping his pale skin, it was already over.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Without the hindrance of her lead, there was nothing stopping Billie as she sprinted through the house. With the smell of her prey so strong in her nostrils, she practically snapped it out of the air as she ran forward. Inhibited only by the occasional door, she worked her way through the spacious mansion in no time, Reed raising his pace to a jog, his weapon extended before him.

  Starting in the makeshift office, their path took them through a back door and down a rear hallway. Barely able to check their periphery as they went, Reed swung his gaze from side to side, making sure only that they weren’t walking straight into an ambush, before surging ahead again.

  Twice now Sydney Rye had seemed certain that there were only two people on the premises they needed to be concerned with.

  One of them, she was now taking care of.

  That left only the other – Vinson Gerard, he assumed – in the house, his scent being the very one Billie was now working her way toward.

  Sweat lined Reed’s face as he fought to keep his breathing in check, not wanting it to be too loud, his ears attuned to the slightest sounds. Around them, the home gave off all the decadence that the outside and the office had hinted. Floors were made of blonde wood or tile, fixtures done in polished gold or stainless steel, each room having a very specific, distinctive décor.

  Oversized chandeliers hung from the ceiling in the hallway, shining down on everything, a harsh contrast to the rooms on either side, their doors standing open, dark shadows filling the space.

  Rising onto the balls of his feet, Reed kept his knees bent, his pace steady as he fought to keep up with his partner.

  Just a few feet before him, Billie worked with her front half bent toward the ground, her nose taking in deep breaths. Quite often in the past year and change Reed had seen her in this position, knowing that his command would be the only thing to snap her from the trance, her focus squarely on the order given her.

  A quality he had more than once wished he possessed, the ability to block out all tertiary noise, thoughts aimed at a singular objective.

  At the end of the hallway, Billie hooked a hard right, taking them into a room even larger than the office they had been in just a moment before. In the center of it was a bed that seemed to be levitating, rising more than two feet from the floor, tethered only by a few strips of leather on each corner.

  On the ceiling above it was the matte black finish of a magnet more than three feet across, the inlay pulling the bed upward, holding it in place.

  A few feet away, any semblance of a wall had been stripped away, replaced by corrugated slate, water running over it, the sound filling the space.

  Occupying the center strip of it, the area to either side was arranged as a vertical garden, bushy green plants spilling out, filling the area with an earthy aroma.

  Swinging his gaze over all of it, Reed kept his back against the right side of the double doors into the suite. Seeing no signs of life beyond the plants across from him, he turned so his body was pressed tight against the wall, Billie continuing across the expanse, her singular focus on the far side of the room.

  So much so that she didn’t notice the thin slit in the double doors on the opposite wall. Didn’t see as it slid to the side, light just catching the front end of a perfect metal cylinder as it crept out toward her.

  “Billie! Halt!” Reed commanded, his hands rising as the words hung in the air.

  Halfway across the room, exactly as told, Billie pulled up short as the floor just inches in front of her nose exploded. Ripping through the floor boards, the shot cleaved a clean hole, splinters of wood splashing across her face, imbedding themselves in her thick fur.

  For an instant, Red felt his eyes go wide, the world around him seeming to slow as he watched the round hit, Billie barely flinching as the floor seemed to rise upward toward her.

  Just as fast, a new sensation rocketed through him, a concern far greater than any he could have had for himself, his sole focus on his partner as he jerked his hands toward the doors. Snapping off two quick shots, the sound reverberating through the room, he flung himself forward.

  His heart racing, he ran in oversized strides, hurtling across Billie, placing his body between her and the door as he fired a third round into the door of the closet.

  “Come!”

  Taking two more hard strides, Reed dove for the space behind the bed, his body hanging in the air as a second bullet flew from the closet, a searing pain tearing across his calf just as he hit the floor, his weight coming down hard on his shoulder.

  Pain rippled through the opposite limbs as he slid across the polished floor, his momentum pushing him across the smooth surface, carrying him to the far corner of the bed.

  Beside him, Billie snarled, her teeth snapping as she aimed her attention at the doors, keeping herself tucked tight against him. With her weight splayed across his hip, she kept him pinned to the floor, the two switching role of protector, using the bed for coverage.

  Beneath her enormous frame, Reed could barely move, his knees and hands scrabbling across the gleaming surface of the floor as he tried to get himself turned back toward the closet doors.

  “Billie, down,” he hissed, the dog’s girth lifting away, the pressure of it still pressed tight against him. Tucking in against his leg, she kept her attention on their attacker, not minding the wound on Reed’s leg or the blood that wa
s seeping into her coat.

  “Vinson Gerard!” Reed called, twisting his body so his shoulder was pressed against the back edge of the bed, using the suspended item as cover.

  Far from ideal, but the closest of any form he had in the room.

  “This is the Columbus Police Department! Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”

  In response came another gunshot, this one nowhere close, the sound of wood snapping audible as it hit several feet away.

  A moment later came the sound of laughter, a contrived noise that echoed through the thin slit, reverberating through the room, louder than the sound of the fountain, angering Reed to no end.

  Gritting his teeth, he said, “Gerard! You are firing on two police officers. If you have any hope of ever being a free man again, I suggest-“

  A second time his announcement was met by a gunshot, this one on the opposite corner of the bed, a matching sound finding his ears.

  As it did, the far end of the bed rose a few inches into the air, twisting upward toward the ceiling.

  “Walk me through that again, Copper,” a voice called, the unmistakable din of an English accent audible. “I give you my weapon and we all walk out of here fine and dandy, right?”

  Sliding back a few inches, Reed ignored the comment, his eyes searching beneath the bed, the space dark, all light from above blotted out.

  Even at that, with just one quick glance it was clear what Gerard was doing.

  One by one, he was removing the leather straps holding the bed in place, picking off the only thing that was providing any bit of cover.

  On first sound, Reed had thought the sound was wood splintering.

  In fact, it was the tension of the thongs breaking, just a handful remaining, keeping them hidden from view. A few more well-placed shots and they would be completely exposed, he and Billie both left in the open as the bed was pulled to the ceiling.

  Continuing to work his attention around the arrangement, Reed settled his gaze on the remaining straps, on the pair of cords holding the right side of the bed in place.