Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [147]
Janos grits his teeth to hide the grunt, but there’s no mistaking the damage. Bent over, he grabs tight at his crotch. More important, he finally lets go of my shirt. Scrambling backwards, all I need are a few seconds. But it’s still not enough. Before I can even get to my feet, Janos picks himself up and plows straight at me. From the look on his face, all I did was make him mad.
Behind me, I bump into the side of the air conditioner, which dead-ends perpendicular to the wall. I’m all out of running space.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him.
As always, he’s silent. His eyes tighten, and a thin sneer takes his lips. From here on in, he’s doing this for himself.
Gripping my ear, Janos squeezes hard and twists it back. I can’t help but lift my chin. He tightens his grip, and I’m staring at the ceiling. My neck’s completely exposed. Winding up for the final blow, he . . .
. . . snaps his head to the left and staggers off balance. A loud hollow thud echoes through the air. Something clipped him in the back of the head. The amazing part is, at the last second, he managed to roll with it—almost as if he sensed it was coming. Still, he was skunked pretty hard—and as he holds his head and lurches sideways toward the brick wall, I finally see what’s behind him. Gripping the nine iron I dropped earlier, Viv readies the club in perfect batting stance.
“Get the hell away from my friend,” she warns.
Janos looks over in disbelief. It doesn’t last long. As he locks on Viv, his forehead furrows and his fists constrict. If he’s in pain, he’s not showing it. Instead, it’s all rage. His eyes are black—two tiny pieces of charcoal in sunken sockets.
Lunging forward like a rabid dog, he flies at Viv. She swings the club with clenched teeth, hoping to put another dent in his head. I tried the same thing earlier. She doesn’t have a chance.
Catching the club in midswing, Janos twists it sharply, then jabs it forward like a pool cue toward her face. The blunt end of the club stabs her right in the throat. Teetering backwards, Viv clutches her neck, unable to breathe. From sheer momentum, she manages to rip the golf club from his hands, but she can’t hold on to it, and it drops to the floor. Janos doesn’t need it. As Viv violently coughs, he blocks the path out and moves in for the kill.
“S-Stay back,” she gasps.
Janos grips the front of her shirt, pulls her toward him, and in one blurred movement, swipes his elbow into her face. It catches her in the eyebrow, just like mine—but this time, even as the blood comes, Janos doesn’t let up. He jabs his elbow forward and tags her again. And again. All in the same spot. He’s not just trying to knock her out . . .
“Don’t touch her . . . !” I shout, hurtling forward. My arm’s so swollen, I can’t even feel it. My legs are shaking, barely able to hold me up. I don’t care. He’s not taking her, too.
Ignoring the pain, I rush in, slamming him from behind and wrapping my arm around his neck. He swipes his hand back over his own shoulder, trying to take my head off. The only chance we have is two against one. It’s still not enough.
Viv tries to scratch at his cheek, but Janos is ready. Lifting up both feet, he kicks her directly in the face. Viv flies backwards, slamming into the metal side of the air conditioner. Her head hits first. She sinks, unconscious. Refusing to let up, Janos whips his head back, smashing me in the nose. The loud pop tells me it’s broken.
Letting go of Janos, I stumble backwards, my face a bloody mess.
Janos doesn’t slow down. He marches right at me . . . a walking tank. I take a swing with my left hand, and he blocks the punch. I try to raise my right, but it sags like a tube sock full of sand. “P-Please . . .” I beg.
Janos pummels