Dragon Passion Page 22

  “Fine. The names of your comrades then,” the man said, switching avenues of question.

  “Johnny, Freddy, and Georgie,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Are we serious? Is this really your version of an interrogation? I mean, come on! This is pathetic. If you want, I can show you how it’s done,” he suggested, putting his hands under him and starting to rise.

  The Extremis Agent’s fist came at his face, but Connor dropped his hands just in time so that it was only a grazing blow. Playing a hunch, he faked being hit worse than he had. There was no follow-up. While that didn’t confirm his suspicions completely, it helped. It had been quite clear the blow hadn’t impacted him as hard as the others.

  “Very well. If you won’t tell us, we’ll have to move on,” the man said, reaching into his jacket.

  Connor tensed when the man removed his hand. He had expected to see a tranquilizer gun. Instead, the man held a needle, the tube filled with a nearly clear liquid. There was a hint of light green, or perhaps yellow tinge to it. Connor’s head was still hurting, and he couldn’t quite make it out, especially in the dim light in the interior.

  He needed to get his hands on that vial.

  ***

  The van went over a bump.

  The big Agent slammed his head into the ceiling, leaving a slight dent in the metal roofing.

  “Ow,” he said slowly, rubbing the top of his head. The thick, slow voice all but confirmed Connor’s hunch that though the brute may be strong, he wasn’t particularly smart. Something had obviously backfired in their serum.

  It was time to make his move.

  Connor rolled quickly, pulling his legs into his body until his head was toward the interrogator. Planting his hands above his head, he lashed out with both feet, connecting solidly with the Agent’s face. The big man with the impossible strength crumpled under the blow.

  Behind him, the interrogator tried to stab Connor with the needle.

  Compared to the Extremis-enhanced Agent though, this man moved as slow as molasses. Connor’s hand shot out, grasping his wrist and squeezing, simply crushing it until his fingers opened, neatly dropping the vial into Connor’s hand.

  “Hey, what’s going on back there?” The shouted voice came from the front as the man wailed in pain at his mangled wrist.

  “Shut up,” Connor muttered and hit the man square in the face with his right hand, eager to ensure that it worked again after the deadening blow he had taken earlier.

  The man crumpled.

  Excellent.

  Turning toward the rear, he saw his first target starting to move. He jumped on the big man and slammed a fist into his face until he lay still. The blows broke one of Connor’s fingers though, depriving him of his full power.

  “Dammit,” he swore.

  Escape was more important at the moment. The vial had to be delivered into the proper hands. Whatever it may contain, he knew it wasn’t the type of tranquilizer that worked on shifters. That was a deep golden color, closer to opaque than it was translucent. He took the needle, bent the metal around on itself, and jammed it in his pocket.

  The rear doors swung open under a booted blow to the center.

  Noise assaulted him as the van moved quickly through the city streets. Cars passed on one side, and the van passed vehicles on the other side.

  Connor motioned for the truck behind him to stop, then grabbed one of the doors, ripped it off its hinges, and jumped.

  He landed on all fours on top of the metal door and proceeded to hold on for dear life as he careened through the road. The truck behind him hadn’t stopped, only slowed down, and the driver slammed on both the horn and brakes as Connor’s side crunched into the front, sending him spinning wildly in another direction. A car swerved to avoid him and the mirror broke off on Connor’s head. He reached up and pulled a shard of glass from where it had impaled itself on the back of his head.

  This was not my brightest idea.

  A deep horn sounded as he flew across the small strip of empty pavement, marked only by a yellow line, that divided the flow of traffic.

  Connor looked up in horror as he slid under the trailer being towed by a semi-truck. His brain barely had time to tell him he wasn’t going to make it before the rear set of wheels came close. Connor rolled to pull the side of his body that held the vial away from the wheel, but this had the unfortunate effect of leaving his other leg completely exposed.

  The big wheel went up and over it.

  He screamed in pain as bone shattered in his shin from the weight of the trailer on his leg. The big rectangular box on wheels tilted back and forth wildly as it settled back on the road, but Connor barely cared.

  The vial was safe, but he may not be. His leg would heal, but it was broken and in a bad way just then. Feeling the leg, he gritted through the intense pain, focusing himself as best he could to ignore the waves of agony that were explodinging from his leg.

  There!

  The break was bad; he needed to reset it. If he could. Putting all his pressure just below the break, he pushed the remainder of his leg away from his body. The pain was intense, to the point he thought he might black out, but bit by bit, the bone pulled apart until it was straight again.

  “Over there!”

  He glanced over his shoulder as he slowly began to release the pressure. The healing abilities of a shifter meant it would begin to knit almost immediately. It would be some time before he could walk properly on it, but several minutes and he would at least be able to hobble along.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he had that much time. The black car from earlier had apparently rejoined them and was in front of the van. It had stopped and men had emerged, threading their way through the multitude of cars to get at him.

  He had to go, and now.

  Using the door as leverage he climbed to his feet—foot, for the time being—unsteadily. The two closest men bunched up as they approached. It was just what Connor had been waiting for. He picked up the door, whirled it around his head, and sent it spinning at the pair like an oversized Frisbee.

  The men yelled and dove out of the way, allowing Connor time to hop his way from the street. He went down the first alley he found, leaving the gawking eyes of the stopped residents of the city behind. What was about to happen was not something they should have to see.

  It didn’t take long for his pursuers to catch up with him, but as long as they didn’t include the troll of an Agent, he hoped to be okay.

  He snatched the lid off a trashcan, holding the round metal object in his right hand, to protect his shattered leg on that side. The continual hopping wasn’t helping, as pain continued to shoot from the leg with every bounce and landing, each motion jolting the break in his bone.

  Backing down the alley, he stopped, looking around him. With a nod, he decided to make his stand.

  The sudden cessation of his retreat caused the four Agents to slow their approach. By the looks of it, none of them were Extremis-enhanced, but he didn’t know that for sure. Besides, four against one was going to be tough with only one leg. He wouldn’t be able to spin to protect his flanks and rear. The closed confines of the alleyway would help, but only a little.

  “Let’s go then,” he taunted. “Come on. Come at the wounded guy.”

  One of the four nodded at two others, who proceeded to edge past Connor, staying just out of his reach. He made a mental note to try and eliminate that one first. The others deferred to him. Cut off the head, and the body will die much easier. It was one of the first tactics taught when it came to fighting multiple combatants. Eliminate the most dangerous or the leader first. As far as Connor could tell, there was not one of them that was more dangerous the rest.

  The leader pulled out a knife.

  He shrugged mentally. Okay, so that one dies first then.

  One man came at him from each side. The leader brandished his knife and approached the side with the shield, while the larger man came at his left side.

  Connor waited
until they closed in, then feinted against the unarmed man before reversing course and thrusting his shield at the knife-wielding hand.

  Both men backed away, but he didn’t make contact with either. His leg was severely limiting him. A third man approached from the middle now, while the fourth hung back, waiting for an opening.

  The knife waved back and forth, forcing Connor to match it with his shield, distracting his attention as the others closed in. They knew he was stronger than them, but all they had to do was get him to expose himself for one moment…

  The middle attacker lunged, but he went for the shield side, forcing Connor to slam the metal circle down, bending it around the hapless man’s head. The man to his right moved a split second later, jerking Connor’s attention that way as he blocked with his left arm.

  Which left his weak side open.

  The knife dug deep, coming in under the makeshift shield that he had been bringing back up to try and protect himself. Connor roared in pain, his right arm shooting directly out. The trash lid caught the man full in the face, sending him spinning to the ground. The metal disc, now completely warped, fell to the ground as Connor let it go.

  He jumped as hard as he could off one leg, his hands grasping the lowest rung of the fire-escape ladder that he had positioned above his head. Pulling up with his core, he freed up his strong leg, which now lashed out and caught the man who had attacked from his left full in the jaw. Bone cracked and the man dropped like a brick.

  Connor released his hold and fell to the ground, hissing in agony as his weak leg was jolted from the landing, even if he didn’t absorb any weight on it.

  The fourth man looked around, and then took off back down the alleyway.

  “Coward,” he muttered, picking up the deformed lid and hurling it after the man with all his strength.

  It glanced off the man with a deflecting blow, causing him to stumble and fall, but otherwise not doing any damage. The enemy Agent got up and all but hurled himself out of the alley.

  Connor turned down into the alley. Gingerly he put his leg down to test it, but even the slightest touch left him in agony.

  “Fuck,” he said, then coughed, the action bringing up a bit of spittle with it. Frowning in distaste he ran the back of his arm across his face.

  It came away red.

  “What the fuck?” he said aloud as the metallic-iron taste of blood hit his system.

  Reaching down, he pulled up his shirt, grunting in pain as the skin screamed its protest at the movement.

  The knife wound was still bleeding, red blood soaking his shirt and pants. His frown deepened. The wound must have been deeper than he thought if it hadn’t clotted already. Connor tugged the shirt down over the wound, holding his hand against it to put pressure on it as he moved down the alley toward the road on the far side. The last thing he wanted was to be around when the Extremis Agent regained consciousness and came after him.

  As he hopped along, Connor’s focus narrowed to the only important thing. The one thing that would make it all worth it. Agony rocketed up and down the right side of his body, the waves of pain almost blinding him as they assaulted his senses. But his bear came to the front, the more simple, animalistic side taking over, redirecting the pain away from the one little pocket of his mind that contained a thought. A singular purpose that repeated itself over and over and over.

  Get back to Maddy!

  Chapter Eight

  Madison

  The Limp Noodle.

  She stood outside the restaurant, the faded yellow sign proclaiming its name proudly on a thirty-year-old sign, big blue block letters clashing garishly with the background. The weathered piece of plastic was cracked in many places. It looked to her eye that it would simply crumble at the slightest touch. A bird flew in from overhead and through a tiny hole in the sign. Shortly thereafter the cries of young sounded as the babies eagerly begged for food.

  The windows were dirty, covered with bars on the inside, and mostly obscured by brown curtains that showed every stain contained within them. A black-and-white standard-sized piece of paper was haphazardly taped to the window, proclaiming the store’s hours. Below that, written in what appeared to be window marker, was the menu. She grimaced as she noticed it was written on the inside, and thus many of the letters were facing the wrong way.

  Her eyes roamed over the rest of the neighborhood, none of which was in much better condition. Although Maddy had lived in King City her entire life, this wasn’t a part of the city she ventured to very often.

  Looks like I wasn’t missing much.

  The cab had dropped her off two blocks south of her current location after an uneventful ride. Maddy had made sure to pay cash, a wad of which she had found stowed in the pack her father had put together for her. She would make sure to thank him next time she saw him.

  Which might be a while from now. If I ever get out of this blasted city.

  How had she gone from enjoying the city, to hating it so quickly? The answer seemed to be that it was because the city had turned against her overnight. A terrifying escape from the only house she had ever known, followed by a huge fight, and then a night tossing and turning as she waited for the faceless enemy to finally catch her was more than enough to convince Maddy that that was the reason. But a part of her resisted that conclusion. It had another idea.

  You never fit in here at all.

  She shrugged, watching the tide of people walking split and part around her, like a boulder dropped into a fast-running stream. Maddy always seemed to stick out. She was taller than most, bigger than most as well. The city was geared toward those with money and the interest to party. That wasn’t her at all.

  It’s true. I don’t fit in here. I never did. This isn’t the place for me.

  Maddy sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as she accepted that reality.

  If I don’t fit, I may as well get out.

  Her feet moved of their own accord, propelling her to the door. She pulled it open and entered into the dimly lit interior. The bars and curtains kept most of the natural light outside, and the interior was only lit by one individual incandescent bulb per table. This caused the pathways between seating areas and any other open space to be draped in shadow.

  “Hello, welcome to the Limp Noodle. For one, or are you waiting for somebody?”

  Maddy’s eyes flicked to the side where a blonde, near to her age, had appeared as if by magic.

  “Just for one,” she said cautiously, trying to figure out what it was about the blonde that was setting off her internal alarms.

  “This way please,” the pert young woman replied. “Watch your step, the carpet has a bit of a lip.” She pointed down to where the edge was curled up on itself.

  Carpet in a restaurant? That’s got to be dirtier than—

  That was it! The restaurant was dingy, dirty, rank, and frankly probably even a little moldy. But this woman—the hostess, or server, or possibly both—was clean, her hair pulled back neatly, with a crisp, clean-pressed yellow uniform on. The yellow was a nightmare, but it was clean and new -looking, which stood out from the background like a warning beacon.

  “Here you are,” she said, waving Maddy to a table.

  “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

  Maddy shook her head. “No, I think I know what I’m going to have actually.”

  “Oh?” The woman’s eyes might have flickered, but if they did, it was only for a split second.

  She was good, Maddy decided. Very good.

  “Yes, can I have the Spelunker’s Delight please? With just a water, thanks.” She added the last part on, in case anyone else happened to be listening.

  Listen to you! You’re already becoming paranoid.

  Maddy forced her brain to watch a rerun of their past twenty-four hours, then told it to piss off if it thought she was still paranoid. If five extra words made her sound crazy, then the rest of her life was going to be filled with a lot of insanity.

  “Sure th
ing,” the blonde replied.

  She still hadn’t given Maddy her name.

  “Would you like to perhaps freshen up while I put your order in?” The blonde pointed to an opening in the rear wall of the restaurant that was recessed several feet, then immediately turned to the left.

  “No, I’m okay thanks,” Maddy said, sitting back in her seat.

  “If you’re sure,” the woman said.

  Her voice was just a bit sharper than it should have been. Maddy looked up, and noticed something in the woman’s eyes. Her blank gaze had tightened, just a little.

  Oh. Maybe this is what I’m supposed to do next.

  Feeling sheepish, Maddy nodded slowly. “You know, maybe I will. Wouldn’t want to wait until food arrived and then go, now would I?”

  The slight glint in the blonde’s brown eyes disappeared, if it had ever been there to begin with. “No, probably not,” she said cheerfully, turning on the spot and walking toward the door on the other wall labeled Kitchen.

  Maddy waited until she was gone, then grabbed her bag and slid from the seat, pulling the strap over one shoulder. She followed what was revealed to be a small hallway to the left, and then took another right, and then another right. There were two doors, neither of which were marked at the end.

  The doors were a deep rich brown, which managed not to clash with the ugly red and gold leaf-swirled wallpaper that lined the hallway. Whoever had chosen that design should have been fired, she thought, trying to pick which door to enter.

  One of the doors opened and the blonde appeared, still in her yellow uniform. She nodded sharply at Maddy, all semblance of the cheerful server gone. Her steps were determined and purposeful now, no longer light and airy. She took two steps closer to Maddy, turned to face the wall on Maddy’s left, and pressed with both hands.

  The wall clicked, and popped open slightly, enough for the blonde to hook her fingers around it and pull it wide open.