Page 13 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

AXEL

When you’re a soldier in the hot zone, the most critical thing is to manage your fear. Fear leads to making bad decisions, which can get you killed faster than not doing anything at all.

You learn to deal with the fear of getting hurt. Even as the sounds of sneakers crushing broken glass into June’s living room carpet reach the bedroom, I can still hear my master sergeant’s voice.

If you get into a fight with guns, expect to be shot at some point. Once you get used to that idea, you can go ahead and act.

Living with the possibility that I might get hurt or even killed in a split second is something I did learn to live with, more or less. But one thing I never managed to get a handle on was when my fellow soldier’s butts were on the line instead of mine.

I’ll achieve the objective at the cost of my life if I have to, that’s my choice. But I don’t want anyone else to have to make that sacrifice. Especially not June.

I creep down the hallway toward the furtive sounds. Risking exposure, I peer around the corner into the living room. Two men dressed head to toe in unrelenting black are crouching, their gazes swiveling about.

The larger of the two’s balding head and stooped posture mark him as the elder. His partner has the lean, lithe appearance of youth but he’s at least fifty pounds lighter, if not more. I decide to call them Baldo and Shorty in my head.

Baldo whips his gaze in my direction. I duck back, but not fast enough.

“There!”

The guttural urgency in the man’s voice makes it clear that he means business. I duck back down the hallway and race for the bedroom.

“We’re about to have company!” I shout as I enter the room. The intruders make their way down the hallway.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. I turn my head and it feels like moving through mud. June stands there, mouth wide open as she stares at Baldo coming through the bedroom door.

“Down!” I manage to shout, pushing her onto the mattress. June bounces high but uses the momentum to move herself on until she’s hiding behind the bed.

I have no time to admire or congratulate her. Baldo rushes me, moving in a dark blur that’s hard to take in all at once. His grace belies his bulk. The gleam of light off the metal blade of his ax registers in my brain like fireworks.

It’s funny how your mind works in combat.

I suddenly remember I have a gun in my hand, loaded, with the safety off.

It’s even pointed his way. I squeeze the trigger, blasting off two shots.

A soft grunt issues from Baldo’s mouth, a sharp contrast to the cacophony of the gunshots that knocked holes in his body.

But he still comes on, his momentum or maybe sheer determination carrying him forward. I use my gun to block the axe blade, wincing at the grate of metal-on-metal. That’s not going to buff out.

We wrestle around the bedroom, knocking a lamp off June’s nightstand before crushing it to pieces under our feet.

I can feel my opponent growing weaker. Baldo’s dark eyes grow glassy.

My mind registers details rapid-fire, even as I try to keep him from deploying that nasty axe.

Pacific Asian descent, most likely, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

Axes are the trademark of the Tongs, the Chinese Mafia. It fits, but this is LA. Maybe it fits because someone wants us to think it fits.

My opponent staggers, going down to one knee. A wide dark patch on his chest grows before my eyes. Baldo’s lost too much blood to keep his feet.

“Sorry about this,” I grunt before smashing my knee into his chin. He folds like a wet blanket, but he still holds onto the axe even when he’s dying. Tough son of a bitch.

Shorty finally makes it down the hall. He stands in the doorway, eyes flashing between me, June, and his friend who is lying in a pool of blood.

His eyes grow furious. Shorty is younger than his dying friend, but he’s not impatient. He doesn’t rush in, even though he’s angry. I can tell he’s already planning the different ways he’s going to carve us up.

“Not today, asshole,” I growl, pointing the gun at him. “I’ve still got four shots left.”

I squeeze the trigger. Nothing happens, just a muffled click. A closer inspection of the gun reveals that when I used it to block the ax blade, I damaged the firing pin. It’s basically a paperweight now.

Shorty sees my dilemma and takes a step into the room. I throw the gun at him. He ducks, even though my throw goes badly wide and crashes into the wall beside his head. A picture falls and thuds onto the floor, tinkling glass adding to the symphony of destruction.

My hand clutches around the floor for the axe. It has to be here somewhere. I don’t dare take my eyes off of this Tong guy. He’s waiting for the slightest opening, the slimmest chance to make me un-alive.

I don’t want to be un-alived today.

My hand closes around the axe handle at last. I leap to my feet, brandishing the weapon.

“Ha,” I say. “Now we’re even!”

He snorts. “You sure about that?”

The ax flops in my hand as I bring it back for a chop…wait, flops?

I’m holding the goddamn dildo.

Shorty smirks.

“You’re fortunate you have amused me with your stunning ineptitude,” he says, standing almost straight up and down as if he’s posing for a photo. He’s dropped any and all pretense of defense. He knows he’s got me. “It has purchased you a few more moments of existence.”

I see the actual axe I was searching for sitting in the limp grasp of the first assailant. If I go for it, he’s going to split my skull in two. No question about it.

He’s not taking me seriously. Just some idiot American with a dildo in his hand. But the dildo is one of those silicone numbers, with big metal vibrating balls inside and a sizable battery pack. In other words, it’s kind of heavy…

Before I can overthink it too much, I step in and wallop him upside the head with the dildo. It bends and flexes mid-swing, building up energy like a whip. When the broad side of the shaft smacks his cheek, it makes a sound like a wet towel hitting a concrete floor.

I can hear June cry out in sympathy. The shout is that horrific. The echo of the sound comes back, and I feel it on my skin. But the worst thing is I’m not even done. I keep up the assault, smacking him in the head and neck with the dildo until he stumbles back, dropping the axe in the process.

I lose my grip on the improvised weapon, but that's okay. I like the looks of his. The axe lays unclaimed on the floor. I just have to reach over and grab it.

My hand stretches out, fingers extended mere inches from the axe.

I grab hold of the handle, but before I can lift it more than an inch my opponent slams his foot down on my hand.

It feels like an elephant did one of those pro wrestling flips and landed on me.

My fingers are crushed between the axe handle and floor.

Needless to say, I let go of the axe and cradle my injured hand. But Shorty doesn’t go for the weapon. He knows that if he tries to grab the axe, I’ll kick him in the teeth. I feel tempted to let him grab the handle and then stomp on his hand. He should know how it feels!

The sound of footsteps in the hallway draws all of our attention. Well, not Baldo, he’s busy bleeding out on the floor.

I hope it’s someone from Platinum Security. But instead, another Asian man with an axe enters my line of sight. He’s tall and lanky, with longish hair. I decide to call him Mullet for the few seconds I’ll get to keep on living.

“You should just leave,” Shorty says as Mullet draws closer. “We just want the woman.”

Most likely they want to take June alive. Most likely. That’s the part that sticks, though. The rub, as Shakespeare would say. I don’t know for sure if they really are going to take her alive. I can’t take the risk. I can accept I might die here, but not June.

Different battlefield, same old problems.

Mullet, the newest intruder, turns his body sideways to make it past his friend. My hand darts out, fingers curling around a fistful of Shorty’s shirt. I pull Shorty bodily into the path of his buddy. The two of them crash together, going down onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.

I start kicking and stomping, my focus on the hand holding the axe. A jolt of triumphant energy shoots through me when I kick the axe right out of the intruder’s hand.

Maybe I get a little overconfident, though. I try to yank back on instinct to free myself.

But Shorty was counting on that. Baited me into it, in fact. Instead of trying to stop me from pulling away, the asshole pushes the bottom of my foot, adding impetus to my motion. I fly back, hit the floor hard and skid back, my head smacking the sharp corner of a baseboard.

Pain shoots through my skull, hot and bright and threatening to encompass all. I fight through the agony, hoping I haven’t got a fracture. The corner shouldn’t have gone deep enough to cause brain damage.

It’s a tiny target anyway.

Jokes. I’m making silent jokes with no audience but myself. I doubt I have brain damage. Or maybe I do, because I think it’s kind of funny. All of this is going through my head as I get to my feet.

Shorty and Mullet separate themselves and regain their feet as well. For a moment it looks like they’re going to run. I actually hope they do. I’m puffing and out of breath, after scaling the fence and then fighting for my life not once, but twice.

But the Mullet, who I think must be in charge, gestures toward June’s bedroom door.

“Get the fake courier,” he growls. “I’ll tie up the loose end.”

Fake courier? He must be talking about June. My mind barely has time to process this nugget before my body instinctively reacts.

“No!” I shout, throwing myself at them. My fist connects solidly with Mullet’s jaw. He stumbles back, and Shorty catches him.

“Let go of me,” he growls, shoving the younger guy back. “Do your job. I can handle him.”