Hard Line - Pamela Clare Page 0,78

was beginning to think it was over for him anyway. His heart pounded as if he’d been running, and he felt out of breath—both signs of serious blood loss.

He stepped back into the opposite corner and waited, hammer ready. If Hardin came at them, he would have one shot at neutralizing the fucker. After that…

If he’d been here by himself, uninjured and armed, Thor would have taken Hardin from behind as he walked into the LO Arch. But, given the situation, it would be tactically wiser to let Hardin enter the LO Arch and then bolt up the stairs—or take the elevator, which would get them up to the station faster.

The footsteps drew closer.

Thor fought another wave of dizziness, his body wracked with chills, whether from hypothermia or fever, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. All that concerned him was getting through the next few minutes alive so he could return Samantha to the safety of the station and get her the care she needed.

And then Hardin was down, his footfalls landing on concrete now, instead of the steel grating of the stairs.

Thor stayed motionless, sure the bastard would have the rifle raised.

Cautious footsteps drew closer. The muzzle of the rifle appeared inside the elevator door first, then Hardin’s head came into view. He bent down, poked at the pile of blankets with the rifle.

Thor let loose his rage, unleashed his inner monster—and brought the hammer down on Hardin’s skull with as much force as he could with one arm.

The bastard grunted, dropped to his knees, stunned.

Thor kicked him in the face, flinging Hardin backward out of the elevator, the rifle clattering to the elevator floor. But the action threw Thor off-balance, dizziness landing him on his back, making it hard for him to regain his feet.

Hardin lay on the floor, moaning, blood gushing from his nose, freezing on his face. He rolled onto his hands and knees and staggered to his feet. “Why won’t you die?”

“Why d-did you betray your c-country?” Thor managed to stand, too, but blood loss and cold were taking their toll.

Hardin kicked him, the bastard’s boot connecting with Thor’s wounded thigh and throwing him off-balance once more.

Thor fell back, one hand landing on the barrel of the rifle. He grabbed it, fought with all of his strength to stand just as Steve drew the pistol from his pocket. Thor didn’t give Hardin time to aim but threw himself against him. The two of them crashed to the floor beneath the stairs, and the pistol flew from Hardin’s hands.

“You f-fucking son of a bitch!” Blood lust pounded inside Thor’s chest. He wrapped his hands around Hardin’s throat to choke the life from him.

But Hardin went for Thor’s wounded shoulder, digging deep with his thumb, pain making Thor’s left arm useless.

Hardin threw him off, crawled over to the pistol. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but I’ve got the brains.”

“Really? How are y-you getting out of this, genius? The P-Pentagon knows you’re a t-traitor.” Thor fought his way to his feet once more, reached for the rifle with his right hand, warm blood spilling from his shoulder to freeze on his skin.

But Hardin moved faster. He aimed the pistol at Thor’s face. “Don’t. You have nowhere to go this time. I can’t miss.”

A shriek.

Samantha lunged at Hardin, drove her chisel into his cheek. “You piece of shit!”

Hardin backhanded Samantha hard enough to knock her to the floor and clutched his bleeding face. “You fucking little bitch!”

It was the break Thor needed.

Fighting dizziness, he picked up the rifle and aimed it at Hardin’s head. “Drop the p-pistol! On the g-ground! Hands b-behind your h-head!”

“You heard him, you m-murdering sack of sh-shit!” Samantha got to her feet, clutching the chisel in her hand once more, fury on her face. “Get d-down!”

Hardin dropped the pistol, looked from Samantha to Thor. “What’s the matter? Is the cold getting to the two of you?”

“T-take the elevator upstairs. G-go, Samantha!”

“N-not without y-you!”

Above them, a door opened, footfalls echoing through the space.

Jones and Segal, at last—and it sounded like they’d brought back-up.

“Drop the weapons now!”

Thor looked up, saw Vasily standing with the other Russians on the stairs, their rifles pointed down at them. “Fuck.”

Steve gagged on the blood running down the back of his throat, the pain in his head excruciating, his broken nose throbbing, the wound in his cheek a sharp ache. He ripped the rifle out of Isaksen’s hands. “Like I said. I’ve got the brains.”

He rammed the butt of the rifle