Brian Freeman - Stripped

He was beginning to lose consciousness. There was a roaring in his ears, and a million blood vessels felt as if they were popping at once. Blake thrashed. He continued prying at Leo’s hand and got nowhere.

“This is just the beginning,” Leo said. “We’re not even close to being done. Once you black out, I’ll take you somewhere nice and private.”

An image penetrated Blake’s brain. Something long and smooth. He couldn’t even see it anymore, but he could feel the cold touch of steel. His knife. It was still in his back pocket. Blake gave up trying to free his throat from Leo’s grasp and instead used his last few seconds of awareness to squeeze his hand behind him. His limbs didn’t even seem connected anymore. Whatever messages his brain was sending were scrambled. He kept reaching for his pocket and finding nothing, and his fingers began jerking spastically.

Finally, he touched the handle of the knife. He had an instant of crystal clarity, and his hand dug for it, grabbed it, and pulled it free. In a single, desperate swing, he buried the blade in Leo’s forearm and heard the man roar in pain like a wounded bear. Leo’s fingers unlocked from Blake’s neck, and sweet air rushed in. As Leo stumbled back, Blake’s mind cleared, and he kicked ferociously with his boot into the meat of Leo’s knee. The old man toppled to his side, a tree falling.

Blake still had the knife.

He pounced, aiming the next thrust of the blade for Leo’s chest. Leo saw it coming and grabbed Blake’s wrist as the knife came down. His grip was slippery and loose from the blood on his hand, and Blake easily pulled away and jabbed again. The tip of the blade sliced Leo’s shoulder, but before Blake could inflict further damage, Leo used his other arm like a baseball bat and swatted Blake away. Blake rolled several times and got up, shaken.

Leo pulled himself to his feet. Both of his arms were streaked in red. He was unsteady, but he waved Blake toward him.

“Come on, pussy. You need a knife to beat an old man? Come on. Try it again.”

Blake didn’t let himself be goaded. He held back, breathing heavily, trying to nurse his strength back and drive the fog from his brain. He kept the knife poised in front of him.

Leo inched forward.

“Pussy, pussy. Gino would have crushed you in a fight.”

“You should have seen his head split when I shot him,” Blake retorted, taunting him. “Like a hairy coconut.”

Leo charged, his voice bellowing in rage. Blake sidestepped him and swung his knife again, finding a target in the fleshy muscles under Leo’s shoulder blade. He thrust the knife brutally inward all the way to the hilt. Leo threw his head back and screamed. Blake tried to cut his way downward into Leo’s organs, but the man twisted away, and Blake lost his grip on the handle. Leo swung blindly and caught Blake on the side of his head with a massive curled fist. Blake felt the world spin again, and he collapsed to his hands and knees.

He felt something metallic under his fingers. His car keys, lying on the pavement. He cupped them in his hands and tried to get up.

Behind him, he heard a sucking, slurping sound. It was Leo, pulling out the knife. Blake turned around, lost his balance, and steadied himself against the side of the Impala. He and Leo eyed each other warily. Blood soaked Leo’s shirt, and he looked weak and pale, but he still had a substantial advantage in size, and now he had the knife. Leo’s hand was so big that the knife looked tiny in his grasp.

Blake crept backward, still leaning against the car. Leo matched him step for step. Blake’s eyes scanned the pavement, looking for his gun, but he realized he had lost it somewhere on the other side of the car. Leo seemed to read his mind. As Blake retreated toward the trunk, Leo shifted, moving around toward the front of the car.

If the gun was in sight, Leo would get it first.

They stared each other down from opposite corners of the Impala, Blake on the right rear, Leo on the left front, near the headlight. Blake saw Leo’s eyes sweeping the curb and driveway, and then a twisted smile formed on Leo’s lips. Confident. Nasty. Their eyes met again, and Blake knew Leo had found the gun. He watched the old man edge away from the car toward the landscaping in front of Serena’s home.

Blake pushed a button on the remote control of the car keys. With a soft chirp, the lock on the trunk unlatched.

Leo watched him with a puzzled expression, and then he understood. He turned away, and with a groan of pain, he bent to retrieve the gun.

Blake swung the trunk open and ducked, expecting a bullet to tear through the metal. He saw Claire’s blinking, terrified eyes looking up at him. With both hands, he pulled Claire out of the trunk in one smooth motion and then slammed it back down. He twisted Claire around and snaked one arm around her throat. He put his other hand on top of her head and held her skull firmly.

He didn’t see Leo at first. He backed up, worried that the man would creep around the side of the car to ambush him. He kept Claire in front of him and could feel her fear. She fluttered in his grasp like a bird.

Leo straightened up. He hadn’t moved. He was still near the front of the Impala, but he had the gun now, and he pointed it at Blake.

“Let her go.”

“You want to take the shot and risk killing her? Go ahead.” Blake began to push Claire forward as he nudged toward the Impala. His keys were still in his hand. “Drop the gun, Leo. Throw it away.”

There was hesitation in Leo’s eyes.

“I’ll crack her neck, Leo. One quick snap, and she’ll be gone.”

Claire struggled frantically in his arms, panicking. He held her tight.

“And so will you,” Leo told him. “You kill her, and I kill you.”

“And then Boni kills you for letting his daughter die. Is that what you want? Do you want to be the one to tell Boni that you let his daughter die right in front of you? Do you want to fail him like that?”

Frustration boiled over in Leo’s face. Blake knew he wanted to shoot, and he couldn’t. Blood was still flowing out of his wounds, too, and Leo wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. Blake kept coming forward, moving up on the driver’s door of the car.

“Throw it away, Leo. If you throw it away, she lives.”

With a hiss of hatred, Leo flung the gun behind him, out of range.

“Smart move,” Blake said. “Now back off away from the car. We’re leaving, Leo.”

Leo retreated. He backed up slowly, retracing his steps around the front of the car and taking a few steps down the street. His hands were in the air. His eyes were dark with anger and pain.

“You don’t look good, Leo. Better call an ambulance after we leave.”

Leo kept backing away. Blake opened the car door and shoved Claire inside, pushing her across to the passenger seat. He clambered behind the wheel and pulled the door shut, keeping an eye on Leo. The old man seemed to be crumbling. His chest was heaving as he took labored breaths. His footfalls were erratic. He wasn’t even looking at Blake or the car anymore. He staggered back, bumping into a palm tree near the curb, and bent over, his hands on his knees. Blood began to spit from his mouth.

Blake started the car. He backed up and then turned for the street. As he spun the wheel, he saw Leo look up again, and with blood on his chin, the old man smiled, his face coming alive. It had been an act. Gasping. Staggering. Nearly falling. Blake realized finally that Leo had come to rest at the palm tree, inches from Serena’s gun. Leo ignored his pain and reached for it, and an instant later, he had the gun in his hand and was swinging it up, pointing toward the windshield of the Impala.

“Get down,” Blake told Claire.

He aimed the car at Leo and jammed his foot into the accelerator. The engine raced, and the car leaped forward, its tires squealing. Blake kept a hand on the wheel and jerked to his left, hearing the explosion of the gun at the same time that the windshield shattered and spilled glass into the car, covering him and Claire and the front seat with sharp confetti. The car shuddered as the front bumper struck Leo. A second later, the car jarred to a halt, and the air bags deployed, cushioning them as their bodies were thrown forward. The balloons collapsed, and he saw Claire jolt back against the passenger seat.