Movement from the tower window. Connor wasclimbing down from his perch to investigate, or to run. Ronanjumped at the opportunity to get close to the tower without beingseen. He sprinted for the tower and waited just outside theexit.
He heard Connor coming out of the tower. Withan easy shift of his foot, he conveniently tripped the asshole.Always worked on his brother, why not on a ruthless mercenary?
Despite the slippery mud, merc was back up inseconds, sidearm in hand. He looked pissed, but fortunatelydisoriented.
Anticipating an attack, Connor aimed forRonan.
A cheeky smile flashed across Ronan’s face;he went on the offensive. Avoiding another gunshot wound, Ronan hitthe ground and, with his legs, knocked his opponent back into themud.
Connor struggled to stand, growling withfrustration as he became further drenched and heavy with mud.
Soaked to the skin, Ronan shook the rain andsweat off his brow and heaved on top of the merc as he aimed thepistol.
The move was enough, and Connor recoiled.
That was all he needed. Clenching his fist,Ronan swung out and knocked the gun out of his grip. It flew out ofreach.
Ronan knew he was no match to overtake thegigantic man; with a spin, Ronan was knocked off balance andcrashed into the ground. Snarling, he ignored the throbbing achesand stood.
Standing face to face, fists in readyposition, each got in a few good licks. Asshole threw a hell of apunch. Didn’t matter how quick he moved, how hard he hit, theenormous Scot wasn’t taking the hint.
Thrown back by a stiff kick to the chest,Ronan felt the wind rushing from his lungs before he even hit theground. Pissed as hell, he knew when he was outmatched physically.He wouldn’t win this one with his fists. Asshole was ridiculouslystrong. And absurdly fast for someone so big.
Struggling to take a deep breath, fightingthe burning in his sternum, he assessed his options. Glancing tohis side, he smirked when he saw the bat-shaped board leaningagainst the stone building. Neither his hand-to-hand combattraining nor his intelligence work could have taught him how to hita perfect home run.
Maybe he should play on a rec league. Heflashed to those visions of coaching little league; hell no, hewasn’t losing today. Rising slowly, he smiled at his opponent,ignoring the drip of blood tickling its way down from hiseyebrow.
Hair plastered to his face from sweat, rain,and caked mud, Connor flicked the sopping locks out of his face.Breaths heaving from exertion, the burly Scot sneered. He shouldhave flattened Ronan with some of the hits he’d made.
Ronan quirked an eyebrow, “If you hadn’talready figured it out, I don’t stay down.”
The sun peaked just over the horizon,illuminating the gloomy sky. Ronan stepped out from the shadow ofthe tower, letting the bright sunshine warm his back, takingadvantage of the light to stun his opponent’s vision. Connor threwhis body weight, going in for the tackling KO.
Ronan shifted to a perfect at-bat positionand swung with full force at the guy’s gut. Didn’t want to knockhim out, let alone kill him, or he wouldn’t learn anything.
Connor doubled over from the hit, falling toground, bracing his hand against his broken ribs as he gasped forair.
Owning the advantage, Ronan hog-tied Connor’sextremities and left him on the ground, bleeding and teetering onthe edge of consciousness. Crouching closer, Ronan studied hisopponent. “Wow, you sure do look like your brother. He sang like abird; you going to do the same?”
Connor spit a mouthful of blood; the dark,sticky sputum dissipated into the mucky ground. Struggling to pullhimself up despite the bindings and bruises, Connor made it to hisknees.
No mercy for the guy that had tried to killhim, Ronan blasted him with an uppercut to the jaw. “It took fivehours in surgery and a blood transfusion thanks to your bullets,asshole. I have no qualms about shooting you in the fuckingface.”
With a mocking laugh, Connor sneered, “YouAmericans are all the same. Think you’re in control of a situation.Death would be a blessing; save me from myself.”
Ronan was done with the chit-chat. Hopinghe’d scared the asshole into believing he was unstable. Testing, hedemanded, “Where’s your employer? Sent you alone to do the dirtywork, did he?” Connor’s sneer grew more feral. “I suspect he washoping one of us would take out the other, leaving just one of usfor him to dispose of.”
Doubt emerged in his captive’s eyes, but hestayed silent. Ronan pushed further, “You didn’t think he had anyuse for you now? You failed to deliver on the weapons, and youfailed to deliver on my death… again. Not a very useful mercenary,are you?”
Connor shook his head and quit thrashingagainst the tightly wrapped bindings, resigned. “Like you, I’mready to retire. Have a lovely little house in the Caribbean pickedout. You help me, I’ll help you.”
Ronan’s eyebrow raised in question, butotherwise he held his body still, refusing to show his hand. “Whywould I help you? You tortured children, families, with thebiologic weaponry you tried to sell. I’m tracking down thoseweapons and destroying every last one.”
Mirthlessly, Connor laughed, “American,” heswore. “That wasn’t us. Was made to look like us. Yes, my brotherand I facilitated the exchange, for a very good price. But, I’m nopsychopath. It was one of your own that led that littledemonstration.”
Taken aback, Ronan held his face calm, butwas seething inside. At this point, he was confident he knew theidentity of the mole, but he was waiting for Connor to say it. Thefact that their own had unleashed the weapon was new and was morethan he could bear. “Where are the weapons now? I know they didn’tmake it to the terrorist’s base.”
Connor lowered his gaze, defeated. “Afteryour man’s demonstration, I stashed the weapons in a safe place.Your man lied. Promised us a fortune, not a life ofnightmares.”
