The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

of fire. He kept the weapon’s sights low and fired at the men’s stomachs. Gut wounds dropped men fast, they also gave room for an off-centre shot. King threw himself down across the bonnet of the Mercedes and rested the magazine. He aimed, fired, aimed, fired…

He was taking fire himself, but he maintained his onslaught, bringing down the last of the hunters, and turning his aim on the exposed men on the other side of the pool, illuminated in the pool lights in front of them and the moon behind. He reached Luca Fortez, who was frozen, transfixed at the muzzle flashes and commotion. He hesitated, thought of the woman he had used as a shield, the two children who had shredded their feet on the broken glass. King broke aim, sighted on the last of his guards and fired three shots. The next pull on the trigger yielded a click and King dropped the rifle and drew the pistol from his waistband. He broke cover, fired at a man in front of him, then a man to his left. He was being shot at from a gunman twenty-metres away. King fired, dropped the pistol and dived towards the man he had just killed in front of him. He snatched the dead man’s pistol, brought it up on the last two guards standing and double tapped each of them in the chest.

Luca Fortez stared at King, now only ten-feet away from him. “It’s you…” he said, bewildered and confused. “You’re the man from town. The tourist…”

King levelled the pistol. He glanced around, aware there would be wounded men from the fight, and wounded men were extremely dangerous. “Live or die?” he said. “Your choice. I know where you live, where your family are. You walk away when I’m gone and it’s over. I have no fight with you. No reason to return.” He glanced down at Nikolai, then back at the Italian. “But he’s coming with me.”

Luca opened his mouth, but he struggled to process what was happening, and how quickly it had happened.

King crouched, picked up a dead guard’s machine pistol. Another Uzi. He dipped the mag, knew by the weight it was more than half-full. He pressed it back in, saw the exposed round on the open chamber, the open bolt ready to fire. He switched weapons, tucking the pistol into his waistband, keeping the Uzi on Luca. “This is happening now,” he said and stepped forwards, struck Luca in the throat with rigid fingertips. The Italian dropped to the ground, clutching his throat and fighting for breath. King grabbed Nikolai by his collar and heaved him up. He dragged him forward, man-handled him away. King glanced back, saw the mafia boss crawling towards a weapon on the ground.

“Leave it!” he shouted. “Lick your wounds and live for another day!” King reached the row of cars and saw two men advancing. He fired a short burst from the Uzi and both men fell. He turned toward Luca Fortez. The man had a pistol in his hand. King pushed the Russian to the ground and he fell onto his face, unable to break his fall with his hands still bound behind his back.

The mafia boss looked around him. The bodies were scattered, some having fallen onto their comrades and resting still. Others were wounded, but the 5.45x39mm was an evil little bullet, and they weren’t getting up soon. Maybe never.

“I’ll hunt you down, you bastard…” Luca shouted.

King fired a short burst and the man dropped, rolled forward and fell into the pool. The water started to turn crimson and Luca’s body sunk to the bottom, his hands outstretched, gently clawing for the surface but going nowhere.

King watched, then said quietly, “No, you won’t…” He had enough on his plate, couldn’t afford a war on more than one front. He had taken enough risks and chances with his own life, knew he needed to remain alive to buy Caroline time. He’d given the man a chance to go and live a life with his family. King looked at the five drowned Russians as they drifted, neither floating nor entirely sunk, in the pool. King had felt for the man’s family, given him a chance, but in truth, he hadn’t deserved it. He’d got the end he deserved now, floating with the men he’d callously had tortured and killed. His wife and children would grieve, but they would eventually be better off without him.

King pulled the Russian to his feet and pushed him forwards without another thought of the scene of carnage behind him. He kept the Uzi aiming in front of him, the muzzle close to the Russian’s head. He saw a man cowering in the bushes. His back was to King, his hands cradling his head. The three wounded men were nearby. It looked as though they had tried to crawl away at the sound of the gunshots but had frozen as King walked past.

“Stay down!” King said clearly and confidently. “Stay where you are. All the heroes are dead. Stay down and you will live to go back to your families…” He kept the weapon trained on them, right up until he reached the Lamborghini SUV. He opened the door, saw the control device on the centre console. King opened the rear door and pushed the Russian inside. He fell, slipped down between the front seat and jammed in the footwell. He wasn’t going anywhere. King slammed the door behind him and got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He dropped the Uzi on the seat beside him as he selected drive and floored the accelerator. He had never felt acceleration like it, as the twin-turbo diesel V8 dumped its six-hundred-plus horsepower onto the gravel track and shot forwards in a storm of thunderous engine and exhaust noise with a hail of gravel thrown onto everything behind it for twenty-metres. King almost lost