Death After Death (#2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Joey continued to hurriedly stack whatever heavy furniture he could find in front of the door in a frenzied panic. Dawson and JJ could still be heard screaming and thumping, only able to warp the door slightly on each attempt at ramming it open.

Max hauled himself to his feet, his head spinning and his stomach clenching with nausea.

"Give up, Joey," Max sighed. "Your men are dead, there's no way out of this."

Joey finished shoving a second bookcase against the now splintering door, before turning to Max, showing the first glimpses of desperation.

"I have more men! They'll have heard the commotion! Just you wait," he spat manically.

Max cried out in frustration, "Joey! It's over! You lost! Just move aside and let me get to my friends."

Joey's eyes narrowed as soon as Max dare to mention the idea of him losing, and his hand dropped to his waistband to retrieve his pistol. If he was indeed to lose, he would make sure that Max didn't win.

Joey's hand patted around his waist, clawing for that metallic feel of safety; the upper hand. His heart stopped, and his blood ran cold, as he suddenly realised that his pistol, which he had set down to move the bookshelf, sat precariously on a table top between him and Max.

Max's eyes followed Joey's fearful gaze, focusing in immediately on the grip of the gun, just out of reach of both men. They shared a quick glance, like an old fashioned Mexican standoff, then leapt for the weapon.

Joey's hand clamped around the grip first, before Max clattered into his body. Joey's chin crunched onto the edge of the table, his teeth tearing through the edge of his tongue as blood poured from his mouth. The searing pain caused his fingers to loosen, and the gun slipped from his grasp.

Max planted his fist into the side of Joey's face before crawling towards the fallen gun, which now sat atop a maroon Persian rug. Just as his fingers brushed against the cold metal, Joey's boot crashed down onto Max's hand, and he reached down to claim the gun for himself.

Max twisted to the side, using his free hand to drive a violent punch up towards Joey's head as he bent down. Max's fist connected strongly with Joey's windpipe, sending the latter spluttering to the flaw, desperately clutching for any available smidgen of oxygen.

Before Max could grab the pistol, Joey used his trailing leg to kick it away, sending it rattling against a wall, hidden under a heavy wooden desk.

Max screamed expletives before turning his attention to Joey, seizing the upper hand and pinning him to the ground before he could catch his breath. Max drove a punch down onto the bridge of Joey's nose, followed by another into his temple, but the pain seemed only to drive the pinned man who retaliated with strikes of his own.

Max swatted away Joey's swipes, using his own hands to pin Joeys arms to the floor. Joey struggled with every ounce of strength he had, but Max's bodyweight was too much to shift. Instead, he collected the oozing blood in his mouth and spat it up into Max's eyes, before launching his forehead upward into Max's face.

The headbutt sent Max reeling, and he was now sporting blood injuries of his own as his lip and nose formed a deep red waterfall.

Joey didn't hesitate in turning the tables on his old friend, driving an elbow into Max's already battered face. Max's head snapped back, cracking against the hard stone floor, leaving him defenceless to Joey's attacks.

Joey leapt on top of Max, this time ensuring that it was him doing the pinning as he trapped Max under his bulky frame. Max could only raise his hands to his face in a weak attempt at blocking Joey's brutal strikes, but it was to no avail.