Eyeing the duffel bags, Grant commented, “You didn’t believe him, I guess.”
Wagging his head, brushing tears from his cheeks, Teague mumbled, “Would you, in my shoes? I admit it I was runnin’ to the Outlands.”
“If a Mag is behind this, they’ll just come after you. With a squadron of Deathbirdsand blow your two-ton ass to the coast.”
Gesturing to Domi, Teague said, “She claims to know a way overland into the Mesa Verde hellzone. Figured I could lose any trackers there, then move on. Maybe to one of the Western Islands, or even the Darks, where there ain’t no barons and no Mags.”
Glancing down at his loose pants, Teague moaned at the sight of the dark stain spread around the crotch. “Oh, Christ. See what you made me do?”
“You’ll be goddamn lucky if that’s all the bodily fluids you lose today. On your feet.”
The Pit boss slowly lumbered to his feet. He cast a slit-eyed stare at Domi, hissing, “You bleached-out little gaudy slut.”
There was a scuffling and the sound of rushing feet behind Grant. He whirled as Uno, the leather strap dangling from one wrist, bore down on him, a length of nail-studded wood in his hands. His face was a bare-toothed snarl of hurt pride and unthinking, murderous fury.
Grant had to give him credit; not only had he come to sooner than expected, but he’d managed to wriggle free of his bonds in record time. Not that it made any difference. He pointed the Sin Eater and let loose with a 3-round burst. The staccato hammering of the autoblaster filled the warehouse as three holes were stitched across Uno’s shirtfront. The multiple impacts slammed him back and down in a twisted tangle, blood flying in liquid arcs from his chest.
A tremendous weight slammed into Grant’s back with bone-jarring force, cannonading him out the door. His feet struck the newly made corpse, and he fell on his face, sliding across the flagstone floor.
Gasping, he levered himself onto his back an instant before Guana Teague hurled his body atop his. The wind was literally crushed from his lungs, exploding out of his mouth. He gasped for air as Teague’s hand closed tightly over his right wrist, immobilizing it and keeping the Sin Eater aimed at the ceiling.
The Pit boss not only outweighed him by a minimum of a hundred pounds, but he was far stronger than he looked. He combined over three hundred pounds, strength and years of experience as a Pit fighter with an outpouring of adrenaline-driven energy generated by sheer terror. He tried to gouge Grant’s eyes, and the squeezing pressure of his knees was like an iron band tightening around his rib cage.
With his free hand, Grant clawed for his attacker’s face, but the fat man twisted aside and locked the fingers of his left hand around the Magistrate’s throat, the thumb pressing cruelly into his windpipe-
“Domi!” shrieked Teague. ” Domi !”
Over the man’s shoulder, Grant saw the girl appear, a very long serrated knife gripped in both of her hands. She held it over her head. Her ruby eyes were wild and bright with kill-light.
Grant heaved and bucked, struggling to throw Teague’s mammoth bulk aside, if only for a second. But it was like trying to wrestle a mountain. Desperately he flailed with his legs, hoping to kick Domi or her knife before she plunged it into him.
Suddenly, Guana Teague stiffened, head snapping up and back. His eyes widened and bulged, filled with wonder and pain. A liquid gurgling bubbled past his lips, followed immediately by a tendril of bright crimson.
Grant saw Domi withdraw the long blade from Teague’s back. Half of its length glistened with blood. With his head up and back, his squat throat presented a vulnerable target. The knife blade slashed once, very expertly, from behind. The flesh beneath his triple chins opened up in a red-rimmed caricature of a smile. Bright arterial blood cascaded from the wound, drenching Grant as though he were standing beneath a waterfall.
Guana Teague shuddered and collapsed, his spasming bulk falling forward and all but smothering him. Grant cursed in disgust, tearing his wrist free of slack fingers. He heaved and elbowed and thrashed to roll the grotesque corpse off himself.