not a soundproof studio.
Maybe it was just a maid. Maybe it was just a bellhop.
Maybe it was just a big guy with slicked-back hair and a custom made silk Armani suit.
Bruce crept toward the door. The right leg slid forward, then the left tagged along. He had never been much of an athlete, had never been the most coordinated guy in the world. Right now, it looked like he was doing some kind of spastic fox trot.
Click.
His heart slammed into his throat. His legs went weak. There was no mistaking where the sound had come from this time.
His door.
He stood frozen. His breathing reverberated in his ears so damn loudly that he was sure everyone on the floor could hear it.
Click.
A short, quick click. Not a fumbling sound, but a very precise click.
Run, Bruce. Run and hide.
But where? He was in a small room on the eleventh floor of a hotel.
Where the hell was he supposed to run and hide? He took another step toward the door.
7 can open it quickly, scream my brains out, and run down the hall like an escaped psych patient. I could The knock came so suddenly that Bruce nearly screamed.
"Who is it?" he practically shouted.
"Towels," a man's voice said.
Bruce moved closer to the door. Towels, my ass.
"Don't need any," he called out without opening the door.
Pause.
"Okay. Good night, sir."
He could hear Mr. Towel's footsteps move away from his door.
Bruce pressed his back against the wall and continued to make his way to the door. His whole body shook. Despite the room's powerful air conditioning, sweat drenched his clothing and matted his hair down against his forehead.
Now what?
The peephole, Mr. James Friggin' Bond. Look through the peephole.
Bruce obeyed the voice within his head. He slowly turned and put his eye against the peephole. Nothing. Nada, as the Mexicans say. There was no one there, not a damn thing. He tried to look to his left and then his right And that was when the door flew open.
The chain broke as though it were a thread. The metal knob slammed against the point of Bruce's hip. Pain shot through the whole area.
Instinctively he tried to cover his hip with his hand.
That proved to be a mistake. From behind the door a large fist came flying toward Bruce's face. He tried to duck, but his reflexes were too slow. The knuckles landed with a horrid thud against the bridge of Bruce's nose, crushing the bones and cartilage. Blood flowed quickly from his nostrils.
Oh, Jesus, oh, sweet God...
Bruce stumbled back, reaching for his nose. The big guy in the Armani suit stepped into the room and closed the door. He moved with a speed and grace that defied his great bulk.
"Please " Bruce managed before a powerful hand the size of a boxer's glove clamped over his mouth, silencing him. The hand carelessly knocked against the flattened nostrils, pushing them upward and sending hot surges of pain through his face.
The man smiled and nodded politely as if they had just been introduced at a cocktail party. Then he lifted his foot and threw a kick with expert precision. The blow shattered Bruce's kneecap.
Bruce heard the sharp cracking noise as the bone below the knee snapped. His scream was muffled by the man's hand tightening against his mouth. Then the giant hand pulled back just slightly before slamming up into Bruce's jaw, fracturing another bone and cracking several teeth. Gripping the broken jaw with his fingers, the man reached into Bruce's mouth and pulled down hard. The pain was enormous, overwhelming. Bruce could feel the tendons in his mouth ripping away.
Oh, God, please... The big man in the Armani suit let Bruce slide to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Bruce's head swam. He watched through a murky haze as the big man examined a blood stain on his suit.
The man seemed annoyed by the stain, upset that it would not come out at the dry cleaner. With a shake of his head, the man moved toward the window and pulled back the curtain.
"You picked a nice, high floor," he said casually.
"That will make things easier."
The big man turned away from the window. He strolled back toward where Bruce lay writhing. He bent down, took a solid hold on Bruce's foot and gently lifted Bruce's shattered leg into the air. The agony was unbearable. Jolts of pain wracked his body with each slight movement of the broken limb.
Please, God, please let me pass out... Suddenly Brace realized what