Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,68

his own chest. Holding pressure on the head, Evan goosenecked Keller’s wrist, locked the elbow, and torqued his arm so the pistol was aimed sideways. Evan laced his forefinger through the trigger guard on top of Keller’s.

The remaining operators were sprinting toward them from two offset trajectories, each about thirty yards away. Evan cranked Keller’s hefty arm upward, captured the lead man in the off-kilter sights, and fired three times. One of the rounds caught him in the face, clotheslining him, his body landing flat on the asphalt with a deadweight thud.

Evan swung Keller’s arm thirty degrees to the right. Before he could aim at the second operator, the man opened fire, one of the rounds striking Keller in the shoulder. Spray of warmth across Evan’s cheek, taste of copper in the air, the impact sending a thunderclap through Keller’s flesh and bone. The domino effect nearly knocked Evan onto his ass, but he managed to hold on, keeping Keller’s arm captured and maintaining the choke.

Steering Keller from behind, Evan kicked his Achilles tendon. Keller jerked his foot forward with a zombie step and grunted, lips fluttering wetly beneath the mask. Then Evan kneed the back of Keller’s other leg, manipulating the big man like a doll, force-walking him around the front of the Mustang for cover. Keller tried to rear up, but Evan slammed his forehead down onto the hood, denting the metal and cracking the Tiffany-blue paint job. He kept his grip on Keller’s arm, fighting their shared gun hand up and over to aim.

The operator was still coming, rounds sparking off the body of the Mustang, one of the tires going with a pop, air hissing angrily through the puncture. Keller was screaming into the hood. Evan wrenched the Hi-Power over another inch and fired, fired, fired, finally clipping the operator’s cheek.

The guy halted at last, the MP5 tumbling from his hands. Evan took a moment to sight carefully and shot him through the forehead.

There was a single instant of quiet, powder smoke stratified in the air.

Then, somewhere behind the kiosk, the Tesla hummed to life, headlights sweeping the perimeter fence as the team leader whipped the car around to charge into the fray.

Keller was sobbing, his words muted given Evan’s ringing ears. “—my friends, made me shoot my friends—”

His neck was slick with blood, making it harder for Evan to maintain the rear naked choke. Keller tried to twist his gun hand free, but Evan kept his hold, pulling the Browning inward and forcing it up, up, the muzzle nearing Keller’s face. Evan’s biceps strained, his forearm burning. The Hi-Power trembled in their shared grasp. Keller was stronger, his arm so much meatier than Evan’s; if this went on much longer, Evan would lose the battle.

Halfway across the lot, the Tesla fishtailed into sight around the kiosk, headlights blazing, and rocketed toward them.

With his last ounce of strength, Evan ripped the pistol inward one final inch, the muzzle coming parallel to Keller’s temple. His forefinger overrode Keller’s, forcing him to pull the trigger.

A dry click.

Evan had lost track of the rounds.

Inexcusable.

Keller’s hoarse gagging sounded like a laugh. He stomped Evan’s foot, twisting away. Evan released the pistol and jammed his thumb into the mandibular angle under Keller’s ear behind the lower jawbone, the tender intersection of three major nerves.

The Tesla was closing, city lights cascading across its windshield.

Keller lurched away from the pressure point, screeching.

The Tesla accelerated. Close enough now that Evan could make out the team leader inside, readying his sidearm, aiming straight over the steering wheel so he could fire through the windshield.

The hiss of the electric motor crescendoed.

Keller bucked violently, setting his weight, Evan’s hold weakening.

The Tesla’s headlights bore down.

Digging his thumb even harder into the pressure point, Evan swung Keller in the opposite direction from what the big man would have expected.

Out into the open lane and directly into the path of the looming Tesla.

Keller shook loose from Evan’s hold. The high beams caught them both in the face, bleaching them white, freezing them as if against the wrath of an atomic bomb.

For an instant it was certain they’d both die.

Keller raised his functional arm in front of his face, bracing for the collision. But Evan knew something he did not.

That the Tesla Model S featured the finest automatic braking system on the market.

The brakes stutter-clamped to slow the vehicle, smoke shooting from the tire wells. The squeal was earsplitting, the reek of burned rubber shooting forward on a pressure wave of