The Gates of Byzantium (Purge of Babylon, Book 2) (56 page)

Will walked over to where the staircase started. The steps looked solid enough. He put one foot on the stairs and heard a slight creak, but it wasn’t loud enough to wake someone from sleep. At least, he hoped not. Will took a second step, then a third, and was halfway to the second floor a few seconds later.

He kept the gun aimed at the thick wooden door above and across the room from him. Because the stairs arced along the wall, he started at one side of the Tower and ended up on the other side by the time he was halfway up the stairs. He wouldn’t be directly below the door until he had gone another full revolution.

Halfway up, he stopped and listened again, but still couldn’t hear anything from above him. It was much darker up here, as the small lightbulb below didn’t reach this far. The door had no locks, which meant it opened upward and could only be locked from the other side.

He started up again and stopped only when he was directly under the door. It was more like a hatch.

Who the hell designed this thing?

He had no real choice. Tom was too dangerous to take slowly. The faster he could get up there and confront the man, the better.

Will positioned himself below the door. He gripped the ring handle with his left hand, careful not to jingle the metal base. He adjusted his stance on the steps so his left shoulder was just barely touching the door. With the Glock in his right hand lifted up to chest level, Will took a deep breath, then a second one, then finally a third before shoving his body upward, driving everything he had not into the door, but
through
it.

He emerged through the hole in the second floor and into darkness and knew instinctively he had screwed up.

His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the pitch blackness yet when he heard movement behind him.

There was no choice now. Will lunged all the way out of the door and onto the floor and spun around just as Tom attacked, throwing his full weight into Will’s chest like the brawler Will knew he was.

The Glock flew from Will’s grip as Tom crashed into him, driving his shoulder straight into Will’s chest, his entire bulk crashing down like a sledgehammer. Then Tom’s arms wrapped around Will’s waist and the man carried both of them across the room and right into the wall, smashing Will hard against the concrete, the impact sending something clattering to the floor next to them in the dark.

Tom didn’t waste a second. He pressed his attack, and Will felt one, two—
four
quick uppercuts connecting with his ribcage, pounding on his kidneys in the darkness. Before he could fully absorb the pain from those blows, Tom’s left fist caught him in the right cheek and Will staggered sideways, the world suddenly exploding in a burst of pain and colors and sound.

Will fought for breath, trying to get control of his legs, forcing them to stop moving. It wasn’t working. He felt the air inside the room shift as Tom followed, stalking him like a hunter after wounded prey.

He raised his arms in a weak attempt at making a shield, unable to find Tom in the darkness. Tom punched through his defenses and connected again, and Will heard his nose breaking, the skin tearing, and blood spraying the cool air of the second floor. Will fell face-first onto something soft (thankfully soft).

Will pushed himself up just as he heard a soft
click
and an LED lightbulb on the ceiling buzzed to life, illuminating the room and the cot he had been lying on, bleeding onto a white pillow.

He spun around and saw Tom in cargo pants and T-shirt, picking up the Glock from the floor. Will sat down on the bed and wiped at the blood dripping from his nose. There was a break on the bridge, with some blood there, too, but he didn’t worry about that at the moment. Instead, he tried to catch his breath and watched Tom turning the Glock over in his hands.

“Nice gun,” Tom said. “Looks familiar. Berg’s? That stupid kid. I knew we shouldn’t have given him a gun.” Tom reached behind his back and pulled out a second Glock. He grinned at Will, and the only thing missing was him shouting,
“Ta-da!”
Instead, Tom said, “I could have shot you when you stuck your head through the door, you know. I was waiting in the back, where you couldn’t see me. No one ever looks behind them when they come through the door. See, this is basically my house. I know where all the blind spots are.”

“So why didn’t you?” Will asked. His voice sounded muffled for some reason.

“Too easy. Way,
way
too easy. Besides, you’re the leader, right?”

Will didn’t answer. He took the respite to slow his breathing down and gather himself.

“I’m actually kind of disappointed,” Tom said. He tossed Will’s Glock back on the floor and it slid into a corner, next to a bookcase filled with hardcover books, magazines, and more board games. “I thought you’d be tougher. But I guess toughness is defined by the people you hang out with. I bet those girls and that other soldier boy think you’re pretty hot shit.”

“You gonna shoot me or talk me to death?” Will said, and spat a mouthful of blood out onto the floor.

Tom laughed. “Don’t be in such a hurry. This is the best time I’ve had in months. This probably won’t come as too much of a surprise, but it’s hard to find someone decent to go a few rounds with on this island. Marcus can barely throw a punch. And Berg, well, you know kids these days. Hell, Karen gives me a better fight in the sack. She likes it rough, you know.”

“I really couldn’t care less.”

“Hah, yeah. I guess she’s not your type.” He grinned, as if he had just thought of something wonderful. “Lara, that her name? A little too skinny for my taste, but hey, I might give it a try anyway. You gotta spice life up every now and then, right? Otherwise it’s not worth living.”

“She’d eat you for dinner.”

“We’ll see. She looks like she might be ready for a trade-up. What do you think?”

“I think you should shoot me now, because it’s going to hurt if we go round two.”

Tom grinned at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Prove it.”

Tom tossed his Glock away, and it skidded along the floor and landed a few inches from the other one.

Will grinned at him.

Tom saw the grin and returned it. “I like the confidence. So show me, tough guy. Show me what the Rangers taught you.”

Will stood up from the cot and began walking toward him. Tom stood his ground and watched him come.

The man didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t fidget at all.

Tom had three to four inches on him and a good, solid fifty pounds. Tom was bigger, stronger, and a hand-to-hand fight was probably not in Will’s favor. He didn’t think a guy like Tom had ever lost a fight in his life. Definitely not in a one-on-one situation. And he probably wasn’t going to lose this one, either, so his confidence was justified.

Bigger, stronger, but maybe not smarter
.

Maybe.

Will went right at him.

He faked a right punch that made Tom lift his left with the intention of blocking, but instead of going through with the punch, Will launched himself forward and rammed his shoulder into Tom’s gut. He caught the big man by surprise, but Tom quickly gathered himself and smashed down with two huge elbows into Will’s back. Will ignored the pain, tried to pretend he didn’t even feel the blows connecting, though that was damn difficult. They were connecting, all right, and each blow was like a boulder crunching down on him from on high, driving him to the floor, trying to bury him.

Ignore it!

Will used his leverage and momentum to lift Tom off his feet, grunting, shouting, screaming with the effort because Tom was heavy (
Too heavy!
). But somehow he managed to lift the big man off his feet, however slightly, but enough to carry both of them across the room.

Will kept going long after he ran out of breath, long after every inch of his body began aching. Pushing his legs to keep churning, his arms to keep their grip around Tom’s body, even as Tom continued to slam down with his elbows. Maybe Tom realized what was happening, what Will was planning, because his blows started to come down faster and stronger. Will wondered if you could possibly break a man’s spine with just your elbows, because that was exactly what it felt like Tom was trying to do.

Then, mercifully, Will reached his destination and slammed Tom, back first, into the bookcase on the other side of the floor. Two of the shelves gave way as Tom’s back smashed into them, and books and magazines and board games tumbled down on top of their heads. Not that either of them noticed.

Will heard the breath expelling from Tom’s lungs in surprised gasps, but he didn’t spend even a single second wallowing in the minor victory. He untangled himself from Tom and stepped back, then spun to his right and grabbed the bookcase from behind and pulled it with everything he had, until the thick wood furniture careened forward, crashing into Tom’s back and plunging to the floor, taking Tom along with it.

Will didn’t have any illusions that the bookcase was going to hold Tom down for long. In fact, Tom was already halfway off the floor, the bookcase sliding off his back, when Will smashed his right knee into Tom’s left temple. That forced the big man back down, the bookcase crashing on top of him for the second time in the last ten seconds.

This time, Tom didn’t get up quite as fast. But get back up he did, pushing the bookcase off him as he slowly rose from the floor.

“That all you got?” Tom shouted, though Will didn’t detect the same level of boisterous bravado as before.

“Not by a long shot,” Will said.

Will walked over to where the Glocks were and picked one up. He checked the slide to make sure there was a bullet in the pipe.

Tom had risen from the floor behind him, and he stood like a hulking giant. A hurt but still hulking giant slightly bent at the waist, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. He eyeballed Will like a predator. “It’s not over yet, soldier boy. There’s still round three.”

“It’s over.”

Tom’s eyes went to the Glock in Will’s hand, but he managed to grin through a mouthful of blood anyway. “Bullshit. I know guys like you. We’re cut from the same cloth.”

“You don’t know me.”

“The hell I don’t. You were a cop, too, right? After the Army?”

“Yeah.”

“See.” He spat out a thick gob of blood. “I know guys like you. I went to work eight hours a day, five days a week with guys like you. Gung-ho motherfuckers to the very end. Just like me. That’s how I know you’re not going to use that gun.”

Will was tired and hurt and his back felt like it had been crushed into a thousand different sections. He stood across from Tom, watching the man breathing in a lungful of air with every gasp. “You don’t think so?”

“Fuck no,” Tom said, brimming with confidence. “You’re going to end this the only way guys like us know how. With our fists.” He held up his hands, balling them into fists for effect. “Round three, motherfucker. Show me what you got.”

Tom had on a nice, dull black watch with what looked like a polycarbonate frame. Will glimpsed a digital readout and compass and backlighting functions.

“I like your watch,” Will said.

Tom looked confused. “What?”

“Your watch. What’s that go for? Three hundred?”

“How the fuck should I know.”

“I need a watch,” Will said, and he shot Tom in the forehead.

LARA

She was simultaneously
trying to reach the surface of a swimming pool filled with dense, sticky mud and process what Josh was telling her and ignore the flaring of pain in her left arm. The bullet wound had suddenly re-manifested itself after taking a leave of absence for most of yesterday. That led to her wondering if her painkillers were still in her hotel room. The Tramadol would be nice about now, maybe even a Percocet, or a Vicodin…

Lara could tell from the looks on Carly’s and Gaby’s faces as they sat next to her that they were having the same difficulties—but minus an old gunshot wound, lucky them. The fact that she was wearing panties and one of Will’s shirts didn’t help her to adjust quickly to the situation. The shirt was about two sizes too big, though the most disturbing part was realizing
someone
had dressed her. She had been nude when she had fallen asleep in Will’s arms last night.

She shivered a bit as she tried to push the repulsive idea of someone molesting her while she was in bed out of her head.

She was also barefoot, and the floor was hard and cold and pricking against her feet and legs and butt, despite the air around her feeling heavy and humid. How was that possible? And the itchy sensation in her left arm was getting more intense, and it was all she could do to grit her teeth and force herself to ignore the urgent desire to rake at the scabbing wound under the bandages.

“Where’s Will?” were the first coherent words out of her mouth.

“He went to look for some clothes and weapons,” Josh said. “That was about five minutes ago.”

“Figures,” Danny said, yawning behind them.

Danny was wearing boxers covered in leaping dolphins. Unlike Lara and the others, he didn’t look like he was having very much difficulty accepting what Josh had told them. But that was Danny. Army Ranger. Ex-SWAT commando. Flippant comedian. Like Will, he adjusted amazingly well to almost any situation.

“He’s always going off and having fun without me,” Danny said. “I really need to start putting bells around that boy’s neck.”

“What about the girls?” Carly asked, looking back at Elise and Vera, still asleep on the floor behind them. Elise had curled up into a ball, her hands under the side of her head as makeshift pillows. Vera was snoring lightly with the strangest smile on her face. Lara wondered if she had looked like that while she was under, too.

Rohypnol, Josh had told them. Or roofies, the date-rape drug. She had known right away they had slipped it to her and the others during dinner, in the red wine, before Josh had even filled her in on that part.

“Will says to let the girls sleep,” Josh said.

Lara nodded. “There’s no point in waking them up.” She looked over at Sarah, standing nearby, not saying a word. Lara thought the other woman looked scared.