during her running days – another world, separate from her physical existence. Her jujitsu instructor had called it “the ultimate awareness,” a place where focus became selective, so the senses were more heightened around specific targets.
She spun into Desoto’s arm and gripped his wrist. At the same time, her hip popped back into his body for leverage, and she used his own momentum to throw him into the basement door. Wood cracked and the giant man crashed hard.
Without breaking her stride, Avery spun and kicked an attacker in the stomach. After that, everything moved in slow motion. Each of the five men was targeted for maximum damage with minimal aggression. A jab to the throat made one fall to the ground. A kick to the groin followed by a hard back-spin and another man crashed on the broken table. She lost Desoto’s little brother for a second. She turned to see him about to punch her with a pair of brass knuckles; Ramirez jumped in and tackled him to the ground.
Desoto roared and grabbed Avery in a bear hug from behind.
The massive weight of his body was like a cement block. Avery couldn’t break his hold. She kicked at the air. He lifted her up and threw her into a wall.
Avery slammed into a shelving system and the entire unit fell on her head when she dropped to the ground. Desoto kicked her in the stomach; the blow was so powerful it lifted her up. Another kick and her neck snapped back. Desoto lowered down. Thick arms clutched her neck in a dangerous choke. A quick lift and she was up – feet dangling.
“I could snap your neck,” he whispered, “like a twig.”
Groggy.
Her mind was groggy from the blows. Air was hard to take in.
Focus, she commanded. Or you’re dead.
She tried to flip over his body, or break the hold with his arms. An iron grip held her fast. Something slammed into Desoto’s back. He lowered Avery’s feet to the ground and looked behind him to see Ramirez with a chair.
“That didn’t hurt you?” Ramirez asked.
Desoto growled.
Avery collected herself, lifted her foot, and stomped her heel into his toes.
“Ah!” Desoto howled.
He wore a white button-down T-shirt, tan shorts, and flip-flops; Avery’s heel had cracked two bones. Instinctively, he let go, and by the time he was ready to grip her again, Avery was in stance. One quick punch to his throat was followed by a jab to his solar plexus.
An iron bat was on the ground.
She picked it up and swatted him in the head.
Desoto instantly went limp.
Two of his men were already down, including the little brother. A third – who’d been watching her battle with Desoto – widened his eyes in surprise. He drew his gun. Avery swatted his hand with the bat, spun with the momentum, and clocked him in the face. He crashed into a wall unit.
The last two men had overtaken Ramirez.
Avery swung the bat into the back of one man’s knees. He flipped up. She brought the steel down on his chest and kicked him hard in the face. The other man punched her in the jaw and followed with a screaming tackle onto the poker table.
They crashed down together.
The man was on top and rained down blows. Avery finally caught a wrist and rolled. He fell off and she was able to spin and trap his arm in a submission hold. Avery lay perpendicular to his body. Her legs were over his belly and his arm was straight and hyper-extended.
“Let go! Let go!” he cried out.
She lifted a leg and kicked him in the face until he passed out.
“Fuck you!” she yelled.
The room was silent. All five men, including Desoto, were out cold.
Ramirez groaned and got to his hands and knees.
“Jesus…” he whispered.
Avery spotted a gun on the floor. She grabbed it and pointed it at the basement door. No sooner had she aimed than Tito appeared.
“Don’t you lift that gun!” Avery howled. “You hear me!? Don’t you do it.”
Tito glanced at the gun in his hand.
“You lift that gun and I shoot.”
The scene in the room was impossible for Tito to believe; his mouth practically fell open when he saw Desoto.
“You do all this?” he asked seriously.
“Drop the gun!”
Tito aimed at her.
Avery fired two shots into his chest and sent him flying back into the staircase.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Outside the coffee shop, Avery held a bag of ice over her eye. Two nasty bruises were throbbing beneath it, and her cheek was swollen. It was also hard to breathe, which made her think she’d fractured a rib, and her neck was still sore and red from the tight squeeze of Desoto.
Despite the abuse, Avery felt good. Better than good. She’d successfully defended herself against a giant killer and five other men.
You did it, she thought.
She’d spent years learning to fight, countless years and hours when she was the only one in the dojo, just sparring with herself. She’d been in other fights before, but none against five men, and certainly none against someone as powerful as Desoto.
Ramirez sat on the curb. He’d been on the verge of collapse ever since the basement. Compared to Avery, he was in bad shape: face riddled with cuts and swollen spots and constant dizzy spells.
“You were an animal down there,” he muttered. “An animal…”
“Thanks?” she said.
Desoto’s diner was in the heart of A7, so Avery had felt obligated to call in Simms for backup. An ambulance was on the scene, along with numerous A7 cops to take Desoto and his men in for assault, weapons possession, and other small infractions. Tito’s body – wrapped in a black bag – was brought up first and loaded into the back of the emergency vehicle.
Simms appeared and shook his head.
“It’s a mess down there,” he said. “Thanks for the extra paperwork.”
“Would you have rather I called my own people?”
“No,” he admitted, “I guess not. We’ve got three different departments all trying to pin something on Desoto, so at the very least this can help shake the tree. I don’t know what you were thinking going into that place without backup, but nice work. How did you take all six of them on your own?”
“I had help,” Avery said with a nod to Ramirez.
Ramirez raised a hand in acknowledgment.
“What about the yacht murder?”
