when we were BROKEN

Twenty-Five

Blood dripped steadily from his nose, the heavy taste of iron coating his tongue as Rémy faced off against Dallas. The kitchen was in shambles, cupboard doors ripped open, several with fist-sized holes. Laying on its side, the table was cracked down the middle, one of the chairs smashed, and the curtains ripped off the rod and shredded. Both men were battered, gasping for breath. With the small space in shambles, Ikeno would be devastated and seriously angry upon returning.

"I'll give you this," Dallas muttered sullenly, blinking through sweat and blood. "You can fight."

"I can kill too," Rémy snarled, hands shaking slightly as he curled them into fists, ready.

"I like your spunk, but I've got better things to do."

"Tell me one thing," Rémy paused as Dallas lifted an eyebrow, curious. "Did you kill that girl at the hotel? And why did Ana kill Diego? What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"Let's just say, I needed to shake things up to get the ball rolling. Nothing does that better than a few dead bodies, and my... employers... sanctioned the actions."

"Not sure why you act so high and mighty, when in reality, you're just another thug, like me."

The gun Dallas whipped out from behind his waist was ready to fire, lifting like streaked lightning toward the mobster's chest. It should have ended there. Rémy moved faster. Fluid, practiced, his body was a perfectly performing machine. Curling his fingers over Dallas' wrist, he turned toward him, at the same time giving a vicious yank.

Pieces of wood splintered from the far wall where the bullet entered, the sharp bark ignored as Rémy hammered short, chopping blows into Dallas' esophagus. The agent sagged with a choked grunt, dropping the gun as he grabbed for his throat. Beneath the dark skin, he turned an odd shade of green, blood-shot eyes wide. Scooping the gun up with trained ease, Rémy coldly slapped him across the temple, watching as he swayed then dropped.

"If you thought you could beat me, it's because that's what I wanted you to think." Spitting at the prostrated form, breath coming in short pants, Rémy made sure the agent was down for good.

The thought of killing him was appealing, but the Frenchman knew he needed a peace offering for his boss. An Agency operative should be just the trick to buy him more time. Bending to one knee, he felt through Dallas' pockets and came away with government-style zip ties, firmly binding the agent's hands behind his back. Taking his time, Rémy went through each pocket, taking everything out, then stripping off the leather belt, and removing both shoelaces.

His call to Jules came next.

"You and Henri get over here and fly back to Marseille. I have a package Gabriel will find amusing."

"The girl?"

"Almost as good." Rémy glanced around, spotting a brown kitchen towel, reaching for it with a grunt. "Tell him I have a lead on the whore."

"He's going to be furious, Rémy."

"I'm working on it. I just need a little more time. When you land in Marignane I'll have the whore in hand."

"It better be worth it," Jules warned in a hushed tone. "We've been gone for a week, and I'm not taking the lash for you. I've already had him screaming at me half a dozen times because you won't answer his calls, Rémy."

"He won't scream anymore," this time Rémy smiled, stuffing the towel into Dallas' slack mouth. "This little prize will keep him happy until I put the whore back in her cage. Tell Claud and Jean Luc to split up and cover the district near the airport. Stay sharp."