Fight to the Finish (19 page)

I muted Harry’s mikes. “He’s got an image of Zandra,” I told my team.

With an evil smirk now, Utotiz closed the miniscule gap between them. Mystic’s eyes slowly lowered and I immediately recognized that expression. He was hearing something. His mother? Zandra?

Utotiz reared back and slammed his fist into Mystic’s jaw, sending him spinning to the ground.

“Michael!” Harry yelled. “Get up!”

Mystic just laid there, completely in a trance.

The crowd screamed and yelled for Utotiz to finish him.

“Mystic!” I hollered.

“Mystic,” TL encouraged, “get up.”

“What’s going on?” David asked from back in the locker room.

Utotiz slowly, cockily climbed on top of Mystic. In a dominating stance, Utotiz straddled Mystic’s thighs, reared back again, and slammed his fist into Mystic’s jaw. Blood went flying through the air.

The crowd cheered.

Utotiz slammed his other fist down. Mystic’s head flew to the left.

The crowd grew louder.

“Son of a—” Harry growled.

Another fist from Utotiz, and Mystic’s head flew back the other way.

Frantically, I searched through the crowd for TL and saw him shoving his way through the people trying to get to the octagon.

Again and again Utotiz brought his fists down, slowly pulverizing Mystic.

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“Someone do something!” I screamed.

In my peripheral vision I caught sight of Bruiser’s red braid as she slipped through the front row and leapt onto the octagon. She flew across the matt, caught air, and landed a spinning kick to Utotiz’s head.

He went sailing off Mystic and landed a few feet away.

The entire club quieted.

Letting out an inhumane grunt, Utotiz got to his feet and slowly turned to face Bruiser.

She stood in her sweet little sundress with her long red braid down her back. Surprise flicked across Utotiz’s face at the sight of her. Her expression held focus, concentration, and a hint of cockiness that she knew exactly what she was capable of.

Seeing their size difference made me think back to the first couple of days we’d lived on the ranch. She’d gone up against Jonathan in a brief sparring match and had effectively kicked his butt. It had reminded me of David and Goliath.

Same thing applied here. Utotiz outweighed her by more than two hundred pounds. And he stood over two feet taller.

I’d seen Bruiser in action. I knew what she was capable of. But I had my doubts. She’d never gone up against someone of this caliber.

She reached back, unzipped her sundress, and stepped out of it. Pulling her shoulders back, she stood in a blue sports bra and tight-fitting, blue, boy cut shorts. She kicked her sundress to the side, making it more than obvious she wanted a fight with Utotiz.

I’d seen her body many times, but her incredible lean definition always amazed me.

Every muscle on her tiny body stood out visible.

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Someone in the crowd yelled, showing his approval. He wanted to see David and Goliath, too. Then someone else, and someone else, until the entire club filled with cheering.

I searched through the crowd for Harry and found him standing off to the side, closely studying them.

TL stepped onto the octagon and went over to Mystic. He leaned down and grabbed him up in a fireman’s hold. As TL carried Mystic off, he passed Bruiser and gave her a nod of approval for her to go ahead and fight. TL wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t completely sure of her capabilities.

My gaze followed them as they disappeared through the archway. A trail of blood dripped from Mystic’s face and it sent a pang straight to my heart. I hoped Bruiser annihilated this guy.

“Do you want to see these two fight?!” Harry yelled into his mike.

The crowd cheered even louder.

The horn went off, and Bruiser shot across the matt. She dove between Utotiz’s legs, hooking her feet on his ankles, and sent him face first into the floor. She whipped around, grabbed his right ankle, and snaked her body around his lower leg. With every muscle standing out in striation, she twisted his ankle.

If it weren’t for the earpieces we wore, I wouldn’t have heard the ligament pop because the crowd was cheering so loud.

Arching his back, Utotiz swung his left arm and knocked Bruiser off of him. She rolled across the floor and boinged to her feet, using her hand to wipe a spot of blood from her mouth.

Wasting no time, she rushed him right as he was getting to his feet. She flipped up, wrapped her ankles around his neck, and corkscrewed her body down the front of him and 178

Chapling cringed. “His neck?”

I kept my attention glued to the fight. “I think so.”

Utotiz sucker punched her in the kidney, and she released him and rolled away. I got the impression it wasn’t the kidney punch that made her release—I’d seen her take a lot worse. She was simply ready to move onto another maneuver.

Utotiz moved, favoring his good ankle, trying to hold his neck in place. Although he hid it well, I definitely saw traces of pain trail across his face.

Bruiser ran toward him. Utotiz threw a punch. Bruiser dodged it, grabbed his wrist, and swung her body behind him, taking his arm with her. She wove her legs around his bad ankle, bracing herself behind him, and twisted his lower arm. Utotiz stumbled forward, his arm and leg locked by her little body, and tried to shake her off.

Through my earpiece she grunted with exertion, and I glanced down at my laptop screen.

According to the Combat Thrash Program she was trying to dislocate his shoulder, using his bad ankle for leverage.

“Raise his arm up twenty degrees,” I read the program’s recommendation, “and twist again.”

She did exactly what I said, and another pop echoed through my earpiece.

Bruiser released him and took a few steps away. “Thanks, girl.”

She’s dislocating all of his major joints, I realized as I stared at Utotiz’s disjointed limbs.

What a brilliant strategy.

The longer Bruiser stood there looking at him, the louder the crowd cheered.

Bruiser walked straight up to Utotiz, stopping a foot away. She stared up into his eyes with a somewhat pleasant, yet curious, you’re-so-going-down expression.

Utotiz held her stare for a good solid minute. Then with a sneer, he cleared his throat and spit right in her face.

Bruiser reached up, wiped the spit from her cheek, and flicked it back at him.

Quicker than I’d seen him move so far, Utotiz brought his good arm back and punched her in the face, sending her spinning away through the air. Wasting not a second to recuperate, Bruiser spun right back, landing the heel of her right foot square with the knee of his good leg.

Letting out a deep growl, Utotiz fell to the matt. I looked down at my computer and zoomed in on the image of them. She’d completely knocked his kneecap loose, leaving it floating on the side of his leg.

Using his good arm, Utotiz latched onto her neck and squeezed.

With a clenched jaw she looked at him. “This is what you get for beating up one of my best friends.”

She flailed into him, punching his face right, left, right, left, right, left . . .

The crowd roared and screamed and yelled.

Right, left, right, left . . .

And Utotiz slowly lost consciousness.

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The doors to the underground club flew open, and cops rushed in. “Freeze!” They yelled, pulling guns, chasing people who had began to run.

I looked up at the octagon to see Bruiser climbing off Utotiz. Our little dynamo had just defeated the world title holder in mixed martial arts.

“Team,” David spoke, “come back to the locker rooms.”

Nalani joined me and Chapling, and together we made our way around the club toward the PRIVATE archway. None of the cops bothered us, probably because they had our pictures and knew we were one of the good guys.

People screamed and ran, but really, how stupid was that? This was an underground club.

There
was
no place to run.

Off to the side, a cop had Harry pinned against the wall as he searched him. That was the least he deserved. This night of Demise Chain events was probably the cleanest ever. Only one person had died.

We rallied back in the locker room area and from there exited to an awaiting van that Red drove. Mystic had regained consciousness, but his face was badly beaten. All of my team members had gotten their share of nicks and bruises from missions, but Mystic looked the worse.

It hurt my heart to see his lumpy eyes, gashed cheeks, and split lip.

My poor, peaceful, nonviolent Mystic.

I moved to sit beside him as the van bumped along, and I reached out and took his hand.

He smiled through his swollen face to assure me all was okay.

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No one spoke as the van continued moving along. A while later we pulled off the main road and wound our way through a heavily wooded path. The van pushed through a blanket of dark greenery and came to a stop in front of a one story log cabin.

I peeked at my watch. 5:00 a.m.

Red jumped out and came around to open the back of the van. My team filed out and into the log cabin.

“This is a safe house,” TL informed us as he turned on a few lamps.

We all took seats around the living room of the log cabin.

Chapling got his laptop out and I followed his lead.

“You’re up,” TL told Mystic.

“I saw it in Utotiz’s eyes,” Mystic spoke from my right. “He’s the brother of the kidnapper. His sister took Zandra as retribution to something that happened to her in the past. I don’t know what that event was, but it was incredibly significant in her life. Utotiz only just found out about the kidnapping, which explains why I didn’t see anything in him while I was studying film footage of his fights.”

“Zandra’s unharmed,” Mystic assured TL and Nalani. “She’s scared. But she’s unharmed. She’s right here in Washington State. Utotiz has a cabin on Mount Mission. That is where his sister is holding Zandra.”

David turned to me and Chapling. “Get us a satellite image of the cabin. And get us everything you know about this sister. I want a picture ASAP.”

With a nod, Chapling and I dove into cyberspace. While we clicked away, our team continued discussing the situation. I blocked out their voices and concentrated on my work . . .

“Okay,” Chapling announced. “Satellite image secured.”

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He depressed a button on the side of his laptop, and out slid a slim three-by-one inch projector. He pointed the projector to the wall above the fireplace and an image appeared. He manipulated the picture, rotating it, zooming in, until a small cabin came into view.

Supported by stilts and tucked into the side of the mountain, the cabin sat surrounded by thick Washington trees. A wall of glass spanned the front of the cabin, looking out over the mountain, the trees, and the valley below.

Chapling manipulated the satellite and zoomed through the early morning shadows to view through that wall of glass. Darkness filled the interior of the cabin, and Chapling switched to infrared.

An image of a woman came into view as she slept on the couch. Beside her was a shotgun.

Chapling scanned the loft of the cabin, zooming in on a double bed. An image of a little girl came into view as she slept with her arms wrapped around a stuffed doll. Her foot stuck out the bottom of the blanket displaying a rope tied around her ankle and secured to the bed.

Nalani gasped, and I glanced over at her. With her hands over her mouth, she stared at the image of her daughter and her eyes welled with tears.

“She’s okay,” Nalani whispered, looking over to TL.

Nodding, he didn’t return Nalani’s glance, just kept staring at the image of his daughter.

My laptop dinged, and I checked it. “I have the background. Her name is Kimberly Tanner and she is Utotiz’s older sister.” I emailed Chapling her image and he projected it up onto the wall as well.

“Kimberly is thirty-eight years old,” I continued. “Five foot three inches. One hundred and thirty pounds. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. She has been in and out of mental institutions since 184

TL pushed out a heavy breath. “I know her.”

Every person in the room gave TL their full attention.

“Kimberly Tanner?” Nalani closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Rubbing his head, TL slowly lowered himself to the corner of the couch. Slumping forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and stared at the wood floor beneath his boots. “I was twenty-one years old. Brand new to the IPNC. We were on a mission right here in the states.

Kimberly Tanner was in the wrong place at the wrong time. With her baby in her arms, She stepped right into the line of fire.
My
line of fire.”

“And you killed her baby?” Bruiser whispered.

TL nodded, still not looking at any of us. “Yes, I killed her baby. She was only four months old.”

No one said a word as it all sank in. I thought about the missions I’d been on and the situations I’d been in. Accidents could happen at any time. Accidents
had
happened. But killing a baby? Oh my God. How had TL dealt with that tragedy?

“The IPNC paid her money.
I
paid her money. I’ve checked in on her throughout the years. Made sure she had the best treatment.” TL shook his head. “It wasn’t enough. I didn’t do enough. I thought she’d come through everything okay.”

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