Page 7 of Saxon

"Who would want her dead? Who could…And why did they want you to kill her? Shit, I have a million questions."

"All you need to know is that you're up shit's creek with me now."

"I don't like shit's creek," I say. "It stinks." I glance up at him. "Do you have a paddle?"

"A paddle?"

The doors open and I haul him toward the conference room where the wedding and reception are taking place.

"Yeah, big boy, a paddle. Since we're up shit's creek and all?"

He laughs, a bark of amusement that seems to burst out of him despite his best efforts. "Oh. Maybe."

"Maybe. Reassuring." I yank him to a stop outside the doors; I shiver since the hotel is kept at a damn near Antarctic temperature. "Well, since you got me in this mess, can you at least protect me from the four horsemen of the apocalypse?"

He stares down at me. "Those four aren't the problem."

"Then what is?"

"The rest of them."

"How many are there?"

"A fuckin' lot."

I run my eyes up and down his huge hard frame. "Well, you look like you can handle yourself." I pat his chest. "Come on. Let's get Em hitched, and then we can figure out the rest of the plan."

"You need to run."

"Run?"

He gestures toward the exit sign marking the stairwell. "Yes, Terra. Run. Literally." The elevator dings. "Now. Run now.”

I hesitate.

He growls like a cornered bear and spins around, jogging back toward the elevator.

Holy shit, he's fast. His gait is that of a predator, a smooth, quiet lope.

The elevator doors hiss open, and a black-suited figure emerges, followed closely by three more.

Each one has a silenced black pistol in his hand.

Oh.

Fuck.

Big time fuck.

Saxon explodes into a fury of motion.

He grabs the nearest man's wrist, twists it around, and his fist descends like Thor's hammer, cracking the joint inside out. He strips the gun away, jams the barrel against the man's thigh and pulls the trigger twice. The man falls, screaming.

Exactly one eye-blink has elapsed.

Next, Saxon drives his knee upward, catching the next man in the kidney. The gun pops again, sounding somewhat like someone cracking open a jar of spaghetti sauce, but a little sharper. The man falls, holding his stomach.

I've blinked twice.