Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,134

Russian moved his enormous fist to the SEAL’s left hand, which was working the blade into his body. Another target. Reece sliced through the Russian’s last functional hand. He turned the blade over and pressure-cut across his neck and throat before planting the blade into the left eye socket.

Slippery with blood, Reece drew back the ax and used his hip to bump the ax to a hammer grip. He then raised it and chopped it directly into his adversary’s skull. Quickly ripping it free, he continued to cycle full-power blows to the head and neck, driven by a vision of Hanna’s upturned eyes, her hair floating around her severed head. In one last attempt at salvation, the giant rolled over, wrapping up Reece’s ankle. This exposed his side and back, giving Reece new targets, which he attacked with a vengeance. The SEAL continued his onslaught until the ax severed his antagonist’s spinal cord with a strike to the base of the neck.

Exhausted, and steaming from the fluids evaporating into the cold air, Reece sank back on his heels, enveloped in a fog of death.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing before kneeling on the Russian’s face and ripping the blade from his eye.

There was still work to be done.

CHAPTER 82

ALEKSANDR DELIBERATELY FOLLOWED THE tracks, aware that he was not pursuing a sub-Saharan savage, but a highly trained hunter and man of war. He wouldn’t find Rainsford cowering in fear at the end of the trail like he did so many of those imported from the African continent, half frozen to death in a foreign land. No, Rainsford would be thoughtful, he’d be tricky.

Put yourself in his shoes, Aleksandr mused. Where would you go? What would you do?

Rainsford was a military man. What did military men the world over do when pressed? They went to the high ground and they flanked, two of the basic tenets of warfare, confirmed time and time again throughout history.

Or, would Rainsford know I know this and do something only an amateur would do because I won’t expect it?

Will he be waiting for me in my bedroom when I return tonight?

Look, he’s going to the same point where his stupid sister thought she could hide, no doubt hoping the weather would cover her tracks. She hadn’t counted on the dogs. Maybe he isn’t, either?

Soon enough, I’ll put this bolt through your heart, S. Rainsford, and I’ll mount your head in a jar right next to your sister’s in my sleeping quarters.

* * *

Raife watched his tormenter from the rocks fifty feet above. He’d gone as far he could in the snow, stopping at a place where he could rock climb toward a cave in the side of the cliff. His ruse was intended to make the Russian think he had found refuge there. Instead he had backtracked out until he made his way to a section of the snow- and rock-strewn mountainside that allowed him to leave his trail. He had carefully picked his way up the slope, using rocks, ice, and the occasional exposed root to hide his tracks.

Hope is not a course of action. I know. But sometimes it’s all we have.

He watched as the man who hunted him edged closer to the cliff’s edge. He could sense the calculations going through his mind, attempting to anticipate Raife’s moves.

Raife had seen the contractors, heard the dogs. Without a weapon or proper clothing, his odds of surviving the night were slim. The man below had hunted his sister on this very patch of earth. Raife imagined her terror in those last moments of life, pursued by this madman, his native tracker, and hunting dogs. If he was to avenge her, he might not get another shot.

* * *

Aleksandr’s eyes followed the tracks until they left the snow for the rock of the cliff face. He imagined the route Rainsford and his sister had taken to the cave, inching their way across to what they believed was sanctuary.

Was he going to spend the night in there? Was he just getting out of the elements, preparing for the coming storm?

The Russian’s eyes slowly moved back from the cave, along the cliff face, to the tracks just to the right of his feet, then back in the direction of his vehicle.

His quick step to the rear probably saved his life. A football-sized rock connected with his shoulder instead of his head, and sent him crashing into the snow.

Rainsford!

My weapon!

Aleksandr scrambled to his knees. Crawling to his crossbow,