Page 28 of Resuscitation

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mercer released Connor and turned to face Brick.

His old cellmate held his Glock in one hand, but it was the other hand, the one gripping a nasty-looking hunting knife, that got Mercer’s attention.

Brick had a reputation for enjoying carving on people, convincing them to tell him what he wanted to know.

Mercer never thought Brick would dream of using the blade on him. But that was the problem with making friends with fellow inmates. You couldn’t trust any of them.

He didn’t waste time on small talk or bargaining. Instead, he fired his own semiautomatic. It was a quick shot, almost without aiming, so he was gratified to see he’d hit the meaty part of Brick’s gun arm.

Brick shouted in pain, dropping his pistol.

Mercer tried to fire again, but this time his weapon jammed. He cried out in frustration, tossing the pistol aside.

Fueled with rage, he lunged across the room at Brick, who crouched on the floor, scrambling to grab his Glock. Mercer had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let this backstabbing traitor destroy everything.

Brick slashed wildly with his knife, but Mercer’s instincts were already kicking in, honed by years of street fights and prison brawls. He dodged the blade, feeling it whistle past his ear.

Then he grabbed Brick’s wrist, dug his fingers into the flesh, and twisted hard. There was a satisfying crack, followed by Brick’s muffled grunt of pain, and the knife clattered to the floor.

But Brick wasn’t done.

Before Mercer could press his advantage, Brick’s forehead smashed into Mercer’s face with brute force.

The impact sent Mercer staggering back, his vision blurring as pain exploded through him and a familiar taste of copper filled his mouth.

Warm blood gushed from his now-broken nose, and for a moment, his world spun fast, but he forced himself to focus.

He’d endured worse in prison and survived beatings that would have killed a lesser man.

Brick may have landed a good hit, but Mercer was far from finished.

He wouldn’t let a little pain stop him, not when he was so close to everything he’d fought for.

Mercer tackled Brick, driving the other man into the wall, using all his weight.

Medical equipment crashed to the floor around them as they grappled.

With a roar of fury, Mercer slammed his knee into Brick’s groin.

As Brick doubled over, Mercer grabbed him by his mohawk and smashed his face into his rising knee.

Once, twice, three times.

Mercer let Brick crumple to the floor, then stomped on Brick’s hand. Bones crunched under Mercer’s boot, and he reached for the fallen knife, then snatched up Brick’s pistol, aiming at the back of the motionless, seemingly unconscious man’s head.

“Andrew!”

Mercer stopped at his brother’s voice and returned to Connor, breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight. The doctor stepped aside and hit a button that silenced the stupid beeping machine.

“Hey, bro. Sorry about all the commotion, but Brick here just tried to stab us in the back.” He grinned through blood-soaked teeth. “Didn’t work out for him, though.”

“Andrew,” Connor repeated through hoarse gasps. “Leave. Now. Before the cops get here.”

Mercer frowned at his brother. After all this, did Connor seriously think he’d give up on him?

But then he heard the sound of sirens. Fuckin’ hell.

“Time’s up.” Connor’s words were barely audible. Didn’t matter. They still shook Mercer to the core.

* * *

Blake crept along the hall toward the trauma bay, where the grunts and animalistic noises of two men beating the shit out of each other echoed toward him, along with a series of urgent beeps from a monitor. Someone was having a very bad day, that rapid bleeping told him.

Pistol at the ready, he edged to the doorway, sidling to an angle where he could appraise the situation.

The men had gone quiet, and when he looked, he saw Mercer standing over a younger guy who lay on a gurney.

Mohawk lay on the ground, motionless, while Sara stood by an instrument cart, staring at Blake as if he’d come bearing roses.

Not that, battered and bruised as he was, Blake was in any fit state for a date night. Still, seeing that smile aimed solely at him, gave him a thrill more powerful than any amount of adrenaline could.

Mercer, sensing a change in Sara, whirled. He met Blake’s gaze, even as he raised his weapon with one hand, wrapping his other around Sara, gathering her as a shield in front of him. He positioned his pistol at her chest, directly above her heart.

“Drop it, now!” Mercer ordered.

Blake’s combat-honed instincts screamed at him to take the head shot, but he couldn’t risk missing. He lowered his gun to his side.

“Mercer, it’s over.” Blake uttered the words with complete calm, hoping to reason or at least distract as he slowly eased forward to close the space, stepping over Brick’s out-flung arm. “I don’t give a shit about you or what you did to end up here. Just leave. Go. Now.”

A flicker of indecision crossed Mercer’s face. For a split second, Blake thought he might have gotten through. But then Mercer’s gaze flicked down to Brick’s body on the floor beside Blake.

Brick lunged, grabbing both Blake’s heels.

His world tilted as his feet pulled out from under him.

He crashed to the floor, his gun skittering away.

Pain exploded through his shoulder as he hit the linoleum hard.

He rolled, narrowly avoiding Brick’s follow-up stomp as the other man jumped up, surprisingly agile given that his face was a bloody pulp.

Blake scrambled to his feet, his body screaming in protest. He dove for his gun, fingers closing around the grip just as Brick’s fist connected with his jaw. Stars exploded across his vision. As they grappled, Mercer stepped away from the gurney, circling the two men, trying to get a clear shot.

Blake caught a flash of movement from Sara, still behind Mercer. She held something sharp and shiny, then struck with lightning precision, driving a metal trocar deep into Mercer’s ear.

Mercer’s gun discharged, the report deafening in the confined space just as Blake pushed Brick away from him. For a terrifying moment, Blake thought he’d been hit. But it was Brick who stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

Taking advantage of the opening Brick had given him, Blake lunged at him, crashing them into a supply cart, sending surgical instruments clattering to the floor.

Blake ended on top of the other man. He circled his arm around Brick’s throat, leveraged his other arm against it, choking the man until he slumped in Blake’s arms. He could have eased up then, but no way in hell was he about to allow an enemy alive behind him and he needed to ensure Sara’s safety.

Blake finished Brick for good. Then stood.

Chaos surrounded him.

Sara was backing away from Mercer, who had dropped his gun to raise his hand to his ear, turning to face her.

Connor’s pale face as his eyes drifted shut.

The vital signs on the monitor flatlining.

But Blake couldn’t focus on anything beyond the immediate threat. “Sara!”

Blake lunged toward Mercer, whose eyes were almost popping out of his skull in a look of complete shock as he staggered toward Sara, his hand clutching at the trocar sticking out from his ear, blood spraying down to his shoulder.

Blake grabbed the handle of the device, an eight-inch steel instrument used for invasive surgery, and wrenched it out. Mercer howled, the blood-curdling scream of an animal.

With the sharp metal device clutched in his hand, Blake stabbed it hard, right into Mercer’s chest, angling to slide over his ribs and directly into his heart.

Mercer staggered back. His wide eyes dropped to the alien tool protruding out of his chest. A shaking hand reached up for it and weakly grasped the handle. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but one side of his face seemed to freeze.

“Probably not a good idea,” Blake warned.

Then, in a whisper, Mercer managed to speak. “The stars are…cursed.”

He slumped down onto his knees, his mouth falling open as he keeled over onto his hands and knees, dribbling blood, droplets splattering onto the floor.

Then he collapsed, all his strength gone, and lay like a curled-up fetus, spasming, before the movement stopped, his eyes staring at Blake, the man who’d killed him.