Page 11 of Lash

I hear a door creak open, silence, and then the soft thud of the door closing. I sprint up the stairs and crouch near the door, pause, and then ease it open, hoping to avoid the creak by opening it slowly.

It mostly works, and I slip through—ahead of me, the two men amble unhurriedly side by side down the wide but low-ceilinged hallway. The floor here is plush scarlet carpet with goldflecks or designs of some sort, and the walls papered in dated pinstripe wallpaper. The plush carpet silences my footsteps as I creep up behind the two men, wishing I had my knife or a suppressor.

At the far end of the hallway, beyond the men, I see Tatiana. She's playing her part beautifully, walking slowly with an awkward limp, as if she stepped on something in her barefoot journey here. She's mumbling to herself in Croatian—complaining about men, it sounds like.

She reaches the door that I assume must be hers, rattles the handle, and fumbles at her hip as if reaching for a purse that's not there.

The men increase their pace, and one of them produces a handgun from the back of his track pants. The other has a taser, and they exchange a silent but aggressive argument about gun versus taser.

The argument is their undoing.

I move as swiftly as possible on the carpet, creep up behind the taser-wielding thug, and wrap my arm around his throat. He gurgles as I haul him backward, putting his body in front of mine. I grab his wrist and twist the taser out of his grip. His companion has noticed, and his gun lifts. I jab the Taser into the side of my victim's throat and trigger it. He convulses violently, choking noisily. I drop him and let him fall to the ground; his head thunks on the carpet, the plush surface likely saving him from brain damage, not that I care.

His companion, in the split second it took for me to tase the first man, has gotten his gun up and brought to bear on me, for all the good it will do him. I sweep my front foot upward in a sharp kick, knocking the barrel up and away. Landing on that same front foot, I lurch forward and leap, driving my trailing knee as hard as I can into his diaphragm.

He staggers backward, doubling over and vomiting from the force of the impact. I step past him, locking my arm around his head, and twist.CRACK. He flops to the floor, dead instantly.

The other thug is still alive, gurgling and gagging, writhing in agony. I crouch beside him. Stare down at him—His eyes are wide, and he's trying to speak, begging for his life.

I grip his trachea and squeeze, watching panic flare in his eyes; his struggles slow and then cease.

Tatiana watches from the end of the hallway, eyes wide. "He was not a threat anymore," she whispers.

"He would have been. He could call for backup. Send a message to his boss or his friends." I rifle through the pockets of both thugs, coming up with spare 9mm magazines for my pistol and an excellent Kershaw folding blade, as well as a few hundred euros.

"Can we not use their phones?" Tatiana asks.

I shake my head. "No. We must assume their employer is tracking them, for one. And for another, their phones are locked."

"Can’t you just put it in front of his face and then change the Face ID to yours?" she asks.

I smile. "Face ID these days requires attention. It is almost impossible to spoof or fake. It is an excellent idea, but unfortunately impossible. A burner is best."

"Oh." She unlocks the door with a key. "Shall we?"

"Where'd you get the key?" I ask. "The doorman was gone."

She gives me a saucy wink and a smirk. "I saw the men coming after me and assumed they were there for me. Old Gregor is a lovely man and I didn't want to see him get hurt, so once he gave me my spare key, I told him to go have a smoke."

I followed her inside and closed the door behind me, locking it. "Excellent."

"What do we do about the bodies?" she asks.

I shrug. "Leave them. We have other things to worry about. By the time the police are called, we shall be well away from here."

"But I thought most murders got solved. Won't they come looking for you?"

I can only laugh. "They can look."

This gets me an odd look from her. "You mean to say they will not be able to find you."

I shrug. "I am not an easy man to find."

Tatiana frowns. "Filip managed it."

I laugh. "Filip managed nothing. Mercado had the jet I was on hijacked. Filip was a blunt instrument at best. A sledgehammer."

"And what does that make you, Lash?"