Stocky and powerfully built, he walked bowlegged with a swaying gait. His arms and hands were short and hairy and powerful. His gray shirt stretched tautly across his torso. I couldn't tell whether his belly was more muscle or fat, but I had no doubt he packed a punch. His crude features, jutting brow, and small dark eyes gave him the appearance of a stupid man. But intellect was not what was going to win the day here. Brute strength, applied correctly, would.
"I decided to bring a friend along tonight," Yuri said, still grinning. "Rachel, meet Max. Say hello to each other."
Max grunted something. It might have been a
My mind began racing. I had ten seconds at most. Then I would have to act. Two men. I would have to incapacitate one of them in the first second or two to be able to deal with the other on equal terms. I did not wish to kill, but I needed to take one of them out of the fight. But who? The answer came fast on the heels of the question. The stronger of the two. Max.
Rachel was six steps from the edge of the bar, where I had told her to draw Yuri to. Five, four, three.
"I don't think she likes you much, Max." Yuri laughed. "I think you're scaring her. Are you scared, Rachel?"
Two, one. Yuri quickened his step, stretching a hungry hand for Rachel. She retreated, nearly tripped, cried out, and her head turned to where I stood. Her eyes were huge. I sprang forward to attack, but it was already too late.
Yuri, following Rachel's turned gaze, spotted me and shouted a warning to Max. My kick, which had been headed straight for Max's kneecap—and which I would have followed with a slash to his right arm—failed to hit home. Max shifted, and my foot smacked into the fleshy part of his thigh.
He let out a soft grunt. Cursing loudly, I swung the knife in a sideways chop. Max was quicker than his build suggested. He twisted his torso, brought an arm up, and handed me a hard blow close to my elbow. My arm went numb, my fingers unclenched, and my knife clattered to the floor. Now it was Max's turn to attack. He swung a hard right at my head. What saved me was the shortness of his arm. I managed to tilt my head backward just in time, out of his limited reach. His fist blurred past my eyes.
He had invested too much in that one blow. He was too close to me, and his right side was exposed. I brought a knee up, right into his flank. I must have caught part of his kidney, because he moaned with true pain and lowered his guard. My right hand was unresponsive, so I jabbed with my left. I got him right on the nose and heard a low crunch. Blood spilled out of his nostrils, painting his thick lips red.
His nose must have hurt like mad, but he didn't seem to feel it. He swung at me again. I raised my left arm to block him, and his fist smacked into the radial bone. Pain jarred all the way up to my shoulder. My arm dropped like a piece of string at my side. He swung again, this time at my belly. I managed to turn my body at the last instant so his fist caught me on my useless left arm. It was more luck than skill, and I knew it would not last. Next time he would score a hit that would matter.
I shuffled back. Max came at me again, sensing my vulnerability. I surprised him by changing direction, moving forward straight into him instead of retreating. I lowered my head into his face, butting him right on his damaged nose. This time the crunch was louder. It was followed by a couple of cracks and thuds as he crashed backward onto the floor, toppling one of the overturned chairs on his way down. He lay motionless, arms and legs sprawled.
My head hurt where I had butted him, but it did not feel like my skin had broken. Tingling sensation was returning to my right arm. A dull ache had settled in my left. I was breathing rapidly, and my heart was pumping like a frantic sailor in a ship that was taking in water. The bitter scent of fear-induced sweat reached my nostrils. It might have come from Max, but I suspected I was the source.
I studied the fallen man. His face was a mess of blood. The chair, one of its legs busted, lay by his head. For a second, I thought I had killed him. Then I saw his large belly rising and falling. Max was out, but alive.
Where was my knife?
The answer came a second later when I heard Yuri yell, "Max! Max!" and turned toward him.
His right hand was gripping my knife. His left was curled around Rachel, holding her tight to him. The knife's tip was at her throat.
