Page 124 of Nothing to Fear

Driven. All the way.

He hammered on the merc, but the big guy stayed with him. He hurled a blow at the bruiser’s face, and his fist glanced off Omega’s cheek. A solid knee to the groin only elicited a grunt. Gideon kicked and punched, threw elbow strikes and headbutts, every move designed to bring pain and break bones.

But none of it mattered.

He had met an immovable object.

45

Near the Potomac River, Northern Virginia

Monday, July 8, 7:06 p.m. EDT

Gideon took an almighty punch that should’ve rendered him unconscious.

His head spun, right along with his brain. The taste of metallic salt hit his tongue. It was like he’d been slugged by a two-by-four.

Omega picked up Gideon by the collar and groin, hoisting him in the air, and bulled him against the wall, shattering the window. He went down like a sack of cement, the brutal impact jarring his bones and teeth. Glass shards cascaded over him.

Dazed, Gideon scrambled to his feet, his vision blurry and instinct driving him to run. But Omega was faster and charged, power-driving Gideon into the stone pillar. A rib cracked. Liquid warmth seeped from the gash in his gut. Excruciating agony poured through him, weakening his entire body. He slid to the floor in a battered heap.

Heavy footfalls drew away from him in the ticktock rhythm of a countdown to the end. Gideon prayed it wasn’t the end of him. Light winked off the glass covering the Maxim 9 four feet, maybe five, off to the side. Might as well have been fifty while he was waylaid by the full-body ache holding dominion over him.

Gideon dragged himself upright, and white light bloomed behind his eyes. He leaned against the column, the MCX Rattler strapped to him digging into his spine.

His vision cleared to the sight of Omega picking up and pumping the shotgun.

Gideon slipped the submachine gun off his back, fumbling to take aim. Omega turned, and the next shot blew the SIG from Gideon’s hands and sent it skittering far out of reach.

A gleam brightened Omega’s feral eyes as he pumped the shotgun once more.

But it was Gideon who smiled. He’d been counting, and he knew something Omega didn’t. The shotgun was out of shells.

Gideon spied his gun beneath the shards of glass. He rolled for it.

Click! An empty sound followed by silence as Omega realized the gun was no longer loaded. Glass bit into Gideon’s arms and hands, and he flipped over, leveling the gun at Omega.

Their gazes met. Gideon slid his finger to the trigger. There was a flicker of realization—a glint of oh shit in Omega’s eyes. And Gideon fired, getting him in the face.

Omega’s head snapped back and he dropped.

A quiver sliced through Gideon. He was alive, barely. His enormous relief collided with reality. This was far from over.

He climbed to his feet, steeling himself to finish this, and scanned the room. No sign of the jammer, but he spotted a ladder along the far wall leading to the roof.

WWIII was in full swing in the other room.

He walked toward the bathroom, wishing he had Reece at his side.

His brother-in-arms was not only an artist at blowing shit up and defusing bombs, but he also did hostage rescue.

It took Gideon several breaths to come down from the angry high of the fistfight.

New pain—deeper, soul-numbing agony—surfaced. He looked down. His side was bleeding, badly. He needed to hurry.

Gideon pushed down the handle of the bathroom door and opened it.

Daedalus stood, using his hostage as a human shield, the barrel of his Beretta Storm pressed to her head.