Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3), Cate Clarke [best books to read .TXT] 📗

It took more than a moment for Diana to notice David though. She didn’t know how long he had been standing there, pressed up against the alley between two buildings on the opposite side of the street, waiting for their target.

None of them had to wait long because as soon as Diana saw the man turn the corner—she knew who the Readers were after. She knew him. Not personally, but through reputation. He had been Ratanake’s most recent boss. It was hard to keep track of military personnel that high up because they were always switching positions and giving themselves promotions.

Major General Hoagland—and, as Yoonah had predicted, there was a woman hanging off his arm, a beautiful Korean woman who was much too young for him. Seemed about his speed, for what Diana had heard of him; a scummy general with a love for every woman except his wife and a knack for talking himself out of scandals.

They took a seat at a table by the window. Zabójca peered over his shoulder at the couple, muttering something into what Diana assumed was an earpiece because she saw David’s lips move a few moments later.

She didn’t have resources or funding. Even the wig was cheap, brown hairs shedding off onto the table in front of her. Diana didn’t have backup or a team behind her. She was completely and entirely alone. Once, that would have made her nervous. But now? It was the only way she could imagine herself taking down the bastards who had murdered her family along with a hundred and ten others.

There was a glint of something glass, Zabójca removing something from his pocket, David straightening his jacket. From what she could gather, this was meant to be a slick murder-and-out, likely poison. David was the distraction.

Diana stumbled her way across the street, pretending to be drunk, filtering her way through the foot traffic.

As soon as David made to round the corner, she grabbed the scruff of his jacket, tossing him into the alley and shoving him against the wall. The brown wig was sticking to her skin, getting in her mouth. She tossed it off, throwing it as far down the alley as she could.

The road down here was uneven cobblestone, certainly not hidden, a well-traveled path between two side streets.

Diana pushed the pistol into David’s stomach.

“Weick,” David managed as Diana punched him in the throat. He croaked, leaning forward as she plucked the earpiece from his head, throwing it down the alley with her wig.

But that meant both she and Zabójca had limited time—him to complete his plan without his backup and distraction, and her to kill the both of them.

“Good to see ya, hen,” he said.

Diana moved her finger to the trigger.

David brought both of his hands down, slamming them onto the pistol, knocking it from her grip. The gun fell between their feet. As he moved to his pockets, Diana grabbed him by the neck. He easily knocked her arm down, grabbing a pistol from his jacket.

She clamped her palm down onto his wrist, twisting it. At the same time, she kneed him as hard as she could in the stomach. David was shorter than her but muscular and broad—she didn’t win this fight on strength alone. Bending forward and coughing, his wrist still in her grip, his fingers began to loosen lightly. With her other hand, Diana bashed his widening grip, knocking the pistol to the ground. It slid up against one of the metal garbage cans at the end of the alley.

David pulled his wrist out of her hand and clocked her in the face twice. Reeling and almost-certainly partially concussed, Diana stumbled backward, slipping on the edge of the pistol by her feet but rallying her posture into a defensive position.

“Fucking bitch,” David hissed as he kicked the pistol by his feet, sending it flying down the alleyway, the sound of metal scraping and bouncing along the cobblestone underneath the music of the street-level restaurants and drunk patrons on the other side of the wall.

With three quick strides, he made for the gun by the garbage can, bending down to grab it.

Diana bounded forward, clutching the back of his neck and banging his forehead against the metal garbage can. There was a moment. David, temporarily stunned. With two uppercuts, she punched him once in the stomach and then again in the head. He teetered backward, leaning himself against the side of the building.

Diana kept her guard up, staying back and evasive, considering going for the gun but deciding that getting within his grapple range wasn’t worth it.

“Come on,” Diana egged him on, blood dripping from her nose.

A beastly growl ripped out of David’s throat as he hurled himself across the alley. Diana ducked out of the way, letting him fly past then grabbing him from behind again, throwing his head against the brick side of the building.

David fell to the ground onto his ass with a sturdy, dazed thunk.

As soon as he was flat to the cobblestone, Diana stuck both legs under his arms, tucking and pressing them on the inside of his thighs. With her arms, she wrapped one bicep under his neck and the other holding his head, putting him into the rear naked choke.

David struggled against her grip, gasping for breath.

There was a young couple, arms looped into one another, making their way to the alley. They saw the scene in front of them and quickly walked in the other direction.

“No wonder they kicked you out of the troops,” Diana muttered in David’s ear. “You don’t have much going for you without a gun in your hand.”

There were a few angry, mangled gurgles from David as she solidified her grip.

On the other side of the wall, there were the sounds of an argument. Not like the one going on in the alley though—it was screaming and confusion.

Then, Zabójca appeared.

It was two against one. Diana had no gun, and she couldn’t hold David in