Fearless

Twenty-Six

"Well done, Nicholas. I do so admire a man of spirit. While you may be a little challenged in the speech department"—Salazar winked at him—"at least you have a modicum of c-c-c-courage."

Expressionless, Nick stared at him. And then, aware he couldn't take many more of Salazar's blows, he launched himself at his tormentor, forcing his battered body by sheer force of will into explosive motion, relying on the element of surprise to pin the older man's arms to his side in a bear-hug, to try to force him to the ground in the hope of smashing his head into the tiles, or throttling him, or gouging his eyes...or...or...something.

He hoped in vain. Salazar staggered at the impact but remained upright, as Nick struggled to maintain his grip, desperate to keep those brutal fists from inflicting more pain. He was shocked by the rock-hard musculature beneath the silk—this was clearly the physique of a fitness fanatic. Salazar must be twenty years Nick's senior, yet the younger man was powerless to prevent the muscled arms bursting free from his despairing embrace and sending him reeling away with a brutal shove.

The bloodied lips leered at him. "Enough dancing. Time to die, Nicholas."

Limping and unsteady, Nick once again backpedalled, heart pounding as he racked his brains for some plan of attack, for some inspiration to turn the tide and set him back on the offensive, scanning his adversary for a hint of weakness—something, anything—and finding none.

He risked a glance behind him, desperate to avoid being trapped again, and turned back just in time to see Salazar's right fist coming for his head; raising his arms in defence, he managed to block most of the punch's force, but as a consequence left his midriff exposed to the left's hammer-blow. Hunched over in agony, he barely kept his feet as he staggered backwards, while Salazar followed in remorseless pursuit.

"Fear, Nicholas. I'm going to teach you about fear." He landed a vicious jab to Nick's chin, snapping his head back. "Yes, and pain, too." He followed up with a crunching hook to his ribs. "You will come to know pain. Pain such as you have never experienced."

Smiling in contempt, determined that the gratification of this experience should not be over too soon, he once again shoved his reeling opponent away.

Head ablaze with agony, barely able to breathe, Nick retreated in a lurching stumble, any thoughts of victory in this farcical, so-called contest gone. His only wish was to end the suffering, his only thought escape.

That, and one other. As resigned as he may be to death, even through his haze of pain he realised he did not want to die at the hands of Salazar—the thought of his very last act on this planet being the satisfaction of a sadistic monster's bloodlust was too much to bear.

As broken and defeated as he was, he hoped it still might be within his power to prevent at least that. To salvage one small victory.

"Where are you going, Nicholas? Come now, we've only just begun. I have so much more to teach you." Shaking his head in mock disappointment, Salazar followed the shuffling, hunched figure. "It's time for your next lesson."

Heedless, Nick kept moving, as fast as his battered body would allow.

"Running away, Nicholas? For shame. Particularly after all your heroics tonight. Could it be that perhaps you're not so heroic after all? What will Mica say? I'll be sure to ask her when she is returned to me."

Nick's laboured steps slowed to a halt. Just yards from the rooftop's edge, he stood with his back to Salazar, swaying in the hazy moonlight. Beyond him, just above the distant horizon, the first rosy hint of dawn coloured the night sky.

"Oh, yes—you didn't seriously think she would escape, did you? Even if she has managed to leave the building, the Syndicate's resources will ensure she is soon tracked down. And then, just think of the reunion she and I will have, Nicholas. I have all sorts of special treats planned for her."