Chapter 52 Dance of Death
Emmanuel POV
I quickly recognized the style of the attackers in the tunnel. My dear half-brother was overdue for another attempt to get rid of me, after all. Though, I had been hoping that the surveillance planted in Kensington Hills would have given me advanced warning this time.
There were at least two dozen of them.
My bullets ran dry inside five minutes. After that, it was just steel and hands and the wet give of a blade finding its mark.
They came from every side. I stopped tracking who from where and simply moved—turn, strike, turn again—building a small wall of bodies at my feet, my shirt soaked through with blood that wasn’t entirely mine.
Miracles will never cease, maybe my half-brother forked out the budget to pay for some more capable mercenaries this time.
Air rasped through my lungs like blades themselves.
A man came at my back. I felt him before I heard him and opened his throat without turning fully around, already pivoting to the next.
I chuckled lightly.
This was the only time I ever felt fully alive—here, on this exact edge, where the next second wasn’t guaranteed.
I was invincible.
I was disposable, breakable, one bad angle away from finished.
Both were true. Neither canceled the other out. That was the joke of it, and it was the only thing keeping my arms moving when they should have given out three kills ago.
But every time a man fell at my feet, another got up to take his place.
My arms began to ache.
I buried my knife in another man’s neck and my grip failed on the pull—the blade stayed lodged, my hand slick with too much blood to hold it.
Two more assassins lunged at me from either side, and I had only one knife left in my hand.
I laughed. Loud enough that it startled even me, and moved faster than tired arms should have let me.
I stabbed one through the eye socket and turned to meet the other, already knowing that it was going to be just a little too slow.
Headlights split the tunnel open, bathing the dark battlefield in stark detail.
The second assassin flinched—just enough. His knife, aimed for my heart, dragged sideways and opened my shoulder instead.
BANG.
He dropped before I’d even registered the shot came from behind me.
BANG BANG BANG—
Then more—BANG BANG BANG—rifles out the windows of an arriving van, men firing without economy, without needing to.
Ah, and here was the cavalry. Late enough that I’d already done most of their work for them.
A pity that I had not quite finished wiping the ground with the assassins before they arrived.
I reached down and pulled my blade out of one of the dead men with a sharp tug, wincing as the motion pulled my shoulder.
The handful of assassins that were still on their feet turned tail and ran.
"Sir!"
"Mr Sagres!"
I nodded at the newcomers, pointing at the retreating figures.
"Don’t let a single one of them get away," I ordered.
They had thrown a wonderful party here, why leave so soon? I had plans for them that required them all to stop breathing.
"Sir—you’re hurt—" Vienna rushed to my side. "My apologies. I should have been faster."
Guards spilled out behind her, finishing off anything still moving, checking my men for wounds. Dover peeled off to meet them, moving slower than he had five minutes ago.
"Only a scratch," I said carelessly. I pressed my good hand against my shoulder. It came away smeared in crimson.
I was so used to Vienna coming to my defense that it took a moment for the realization to hit. I looked up again sharply.
"I told you to stay at the Tower," I said slowly. "If you are here..."
A high, feminine scream ran out.
There— a few paces away from the van that lit up the tunnel, was a figure too petite for the combat suit that swallowed her up.
An injured assassin, lying on the ground, grabbed her by the ankle, his other arm reaching slowly for his discarded rifle.
My blood ran cold.
Too far away for me to instantly close the distance.
I lunged for Vienna’s gun in the holster at her side, already calculating that it would be too late.
BANG.
The man’s hold on Lara’s ankle fell lifelessly. A handgun shook in Lara’s hand.
The shot slammed into the assassin’s chest at point-blank range.
Lara took a measured step back, clutching the gun with both hands, her face too pale in the glow of the headlights.
"You brought Lara here?!" I said dangerously. "What the fuck were you thinking, Vienna?"
I crossed over to Lara’s side at once.
By this time, anything still moving on the ground had been disposed of, three surviving assassins dragged back and held kneeling on the ground. My men held guns to their heads, awaiting my orders.
Lara looked up. Her emerald eyes glittered with a sheen of tears, but they did not fall. She lowered the gun in her hand, her shoulders slumping as though she could not hold up the weight of her arms a second longer.
"Oh God. I killed someone," she said shakily.
"He was most of the way dead already," Dover pointed out. He strode up to the dead assassin on the ground and kicked him casually.
"I...I..." Lara shook her head. She looked around with no focus in her eyes, the gaze sliding across everything as though not really seeing it.
Her hand flew to her lips. Her chest heaved.
She turned around, doubled over, and gagged.
"Didn’t think you had it in you, little whore," Vienna said with a laugh.
The amusement froze on her face when I turned my glare on her.
"This is not what I asked you to do," I said quietly, holding back my rage. "I will deal with you later."
I reached over, grabbed Lara by the back of her collar, and pulled her one-handedly into the van.