Page 24 of Into the Gray Zone (Pike Logan #19)

Kerry paid the bill and I let him exit separately first, just in case anyone was outside watching. After he was clear and

on his way back to the resort, my team stood up and left the restaurant. Once outside, I said, “We’ve got the meeting tonight

with Nadia. Jennifer, Knuckles, and I will handle that. Brett, you and Veep pack our kit up and get the Rock Star bird ready

to travel. Get us a hotel in Delhi.”

Brett said, “Why do we get the scut work? How about Jennifer and Knuckles do the pack-up and we conduct the meeting with you?”

“Nope. Nadia knows Jennifer and Knuckles already. I’m not dragging you two into the circle.”

Veep said, “Come on. You know she’s already done her due diligence. She’s probably got all of our passport photos taped to

her wall.”

Which was true, but I wasn’t budging. “Just do the scut work this time. Jennifer’s female and I want her there.”

I turned to go to our SUV and Brett said, “What about Knuckles?”

I said, “He’s banging her. He’s coming to the meeting.”

Jennifer’s mouth dropped open and Knuckles said, “Hey, come on!”

I said, “What? Is that a secret? Quit your bickering, the tasks are the tasks. Let’s get back to the resort.”

I turned without another word, hearing Brett chuckling and Knuckles muttering behind me.

Knuckles, Jennifer, and I split away, the others heading north to their vehicle as we walked to our SUV down the lane. Jennifer

took my hand and gave it a ferocious squeeze. I looked at her and saw the death glare.

Gonna be hearing about that comment later...

I leaned into her ear and said, “Give me a break. Remember all the shit Knuckles used to give us when we were sleeping around?

Before we were married? Payback is a bitch.”

She said, “Payback doesn’t mean being an asshole. That wasn’t necessary.”

I chuckled and said, “Oh, yeah it was. He deserves it.”

She squeezed my hand again, this time more lightly, and I was focused on her affection. Focused on what was good in my life

instead of what could go bad. Because of it, I missed the group of men who coalesced around us. Ordinarily, I’d have seen

them a mile away, but I was too fixated on my team’s cohesion and—if I was honest—my wife’s acceptance.

We’d almost reached the SUV when Knuckles said, “Pike...”

I immediately widened my aperture outside of my little circle and saw three men walking toward us. I looked back up the street

at the restaurant, seeing it empty. In the time it took to do that they had closed on us. We were in a narrow alley with no

sight radius to anyone who might help.

The first man spoke English, which surprised me, saying, “Give us your phones and wallets.”

I sensed the beast rise, an uncomfortable feeling, but something I secretly craved, like a heroin addict seeing the needle.

I wanted them to push it. Inexplicably, my rage began to grow molten. Even so, I owed it to my team to at least try to defuse the

situation.

I held up my hands and said, “Whoa, hey, we don’t want any trouble. We just want to go home.”

He said, “You don’t get it. You’re not going home.”

Jennifer saw my face and squeezed my hand, saying, “Pike, don’t.”

Knuckles said, “Pike, let’s go back. We can go back to the restaurant.”

The man looked confused, wondering why everyone in my circle was acting like we had a choice of what we were going to do.

He said, “You give us your phones and you can go. You don’t, and you’ll end up in the hospital—if you’re lucky.”

My brain was working at twice the speed of light, and the situation didn’t make sense. These guys are going to rob us for our phones on the street in broad daylight? Next to a famous restaurant?

I knew this was about more than money and settled in for the fight. Letting the molten rage flow, I said, “We’re going back

to our friends, and you’re going to stay here.”

I knew that wasn’t going to happen, but at least I could tell Jennifer I tried later.

They all looked at each other like they couldn’t believe what I was saying. The main guy jumped forward, pulling a knife and

saying, “Give me your phones and wallets.”

I saw the blade and felt a sliver of sadness because of what it would mean for him. So much for just beating his ass.

To my team, I said, “Lethal force.”

He waved the knife in confusion at my words, and I went to work, feeling the beast break free, the rage taking over. I trapped his knife hand high and wrapped his body, kicking his legs out from under him and slamming him to the concrete on his back with my full weight on top. I felt the bones break in his ribs and hammered him in the temple over and over, using a force that was driven by a bloodlust I had difficulty controlling. He went lifeless, a bloody rag doll beneath me, and I jumped up, seeing Knuckles and Jennifer engaged in combat.

Jennifer had a man on the ground with a rear naked choke, him flailing about like he was trying to get to the surface from

underwater. Knuckles was dancing around in front of a guy who was still on his feet, a knife in his hands.

The man stabbed at him and Knuckles trapped his wrist and headbutted him in the face. I leapt forward, grabbed him by the

hair, and bent his head back, then drove an elbow into his skull, turning out the lights, the beast running wild and looking

for something else to eat.

Knuckles let his body fall and we turned to Jennifer. She was cradling the man’s head, but he was clearly almost out, the

fight having left his body. The sight infuriated me anew. I ran to her just as she released him, his head hitting the ground.

I hammered his face, my arm working like a piston, my fist trying to reach the concrete beneath his skull. Jennifer grabbed

my arm, shouting, “Pike! Enough!”

I stopped, seeing his bloody pulp of a face, breathing hard.

Knuckles said, “That was a bit much.”

I looked at him, then at Jennifer, both of them wondering if I’d lost my mind. I don’t know why it had happened, but something

about these guys had tripped a wire in my brain, uncorking a rage I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it was my subconscious

trying to tell me something, or maybe I was just mad at myself for letting them get within striking distance before I’d realized

the danger, but either way, I’d overreacted.

I tried to project calm, as if my actions had been normal, saying, “Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.”

I heard the unique sirens of an Indian police car, and Knuckles said, “Too late.”

I said, “Well, shit. We’re not getting out of Goa tonight.”