Page 53 of Every Last Breath

Maddox spun toward the stern and ran for the staircase leading to the auction room. A bullet narrowly missed her head, blowing out a window behind her. Ducking, she pressed on. Running barefoot in the storm of a gunfight was never good, but she had no other option. Her shoes were still in the sitting room.

More bullets pinged the side of the yacht. Not slowing, she glanced over her shoulder.

Cole was pinned with his back pressed to the hull, popping off shots. “Wait! Maddox!”

The roar of gunfire swallowed the rest of Cole’s words. Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat, washing over her ears. She dug for numb detachment.

The stairs came into sight. She had to get back to the main deck, make sure the smallpox-M didn’t make it off the yacht. She checked her ammo while moving. The mag held thirty to forty rounds. She was low. Ten left. Enough, if she was shrewd.

“Maddox, where are you?” Reece asked in her ear.

“Starboard side. Headed to the saloon. Main deck. Cole is under fire on the level below.”

“Roger. Castle’s coming to you. I’ll help Cole.”

She raced up the stairs and rounded the corner. Rushing through the glass doors of the sitting room, she came face to face with the Ghost.

* * *

Aleksander lunged, swinging the heavy metal briefcase against the woman’s hands, throwing off her aim. A volley of bullets shot out the glass, shattering the doors into a million jagged pieces. He knocked the gun from her grip and smashed the case into her torso. The force sent her scuttling backward. Dropping the case, he seized her throat.

Her eyes bulged as she struggled to breathe, grappling with his wrists to break free. He tightened his grip and slammed her head against the wall. Her lips parted in a stunned gasp, but she was formidable and recovered quickly like this wasn’t her first knockdown, drag-out brawl.

Too quickly.

She thrust a knee up into his groin. Then the heels of her palms struck his temples.

A lightning shard of pain blasted his head, and agony pulsed in his crotch. Aleksander staggered back, groping for her throat. He only managed to rip the necklace from her chest.

She slammed a bare foot into his gut, driving him from arm’s reach. Winded, he clutched his chest. Something hard smashed against his head. A blinding white ache exploded.

Despite his skull throbbing under the dagger of pain, he forced his feet to steady. His vision cleared. He saw her frantic gaze sweeping the floor.

Swallowing the weakness of his body, he tapped the manic fury inside. The wellspring of hate fueled him, and his demon fired him up inferno-hot.

He spotted the gun at the same time as she did, and they both made a move. She threw a marble obelisk at his head, swatted a lamp at him, knocked chairs in his path to slow him down. She was something else, a real scrapper. In the lead, she dove, landing inches from snaring the gun, her fingertips nipping the butt. He pounced, pinning her face down, his elbow curled under her neck in a hammer lock.

Wicked satisfaction pooled in his belly, flooding his chest. He wrenched her away from the gun, tightening his hold. Trapped on her belly, she was helpless. He could snap her neck, be done with her, but it’d constitute the most serious provocation for the Gray Box to settle the score. And males never took losing a female well. The way the man with the scar had stayed glued to her side as if bound by a gravitational pull stronger than any other force on the planet. Aleksander knew such love, such passion. Scarface had also moved like someone well versed in the deadly arts. A worthy adversary.

Watching them reminded him of his love for Sonia.

And what a man would be driven to for the sake of revenge.

The time had come to take as many American lives as possible, in their capital no less, as retribution for the loss of his family. He couldn’t afford to be in the Gray Box’s backyard with pissed agents and Scarface hot on his heels seeking vengeance.

“Remember this mercy, Agent Maddox Kinkade.” In a few seconds, she’d black out.

She scratched and clawed his arm, refusing to give in despite her insurmountable disadvantage. Admirable.

“Shh.” He tightened his grip. “Don’t fight it.”

The white rabbit darted from under the piano and scrambled from the saloon.

Kinkade reached up, groping the top of her head, and yanked out the metal clip fastening her updo. Her hair fell around her shoulders.

Light glinted off the long object in her hand.

She jammed the sharp rod into Aleksander’s arm and stabbed, again and again.