Ryker (Hope City #6) - Kris Michaels Page 0,74

The man clasped his hands behind his head and turned around. Ryker held his service weapon on the man who’d thrown Brie into the water not more than four hours ago.

“I think you’re going to do exactly that.” Ryker motioned to the ground. “Get on your knees.”

The man smiled, an inappropriate action that sent a shrill siren of warning through him. The man was too confident.

“I will kneel for no one.” The man shrugged with his hands still behind his head. “How is your shoulder, Captain?”

Ryker could see the perp he’d cuffed in his peripheral vision. He’d rolled to his side, but the man wasn’t going anywhere. There was something off. His gut was screaming at him to be cautious, but he needed this man cuffed before he called in backup. “On. Your. Knees.” He held his gun on the man.

“Ah, Captain... I know you won’t shoot me for not going to my knees.” The man shifted his legs. Ryker recognized the fighting stance immediately.

The move was sudden and deadly. A throwing star catapulted in his direction. Only years of training in the martial arts prevented the weapon from being buried in his flesh. The moment it took to move gave the perp his opportunity, and the man came at him with caged fury. His gun was kicked from his hand and it skittered across the asphalt. Ryker dropped and swept with his leg, surprising the bastard. He caught the ankle, and the man went down, but they both popped up in fighting stances.

The man’s eyes lit up, and he smiled again. He taunted, “Oh, yes, I do so enjoy a good fight.”

Ryker’s arm was screaming like a bitch. He protected it and held it against his stomach. He’d beat this motherfucker with one arm. There was no other option.

He dropped back, baiting the bastard. He feigned a backward step when the man approached. Ryker blocked a punch with his good arm and ducked a follow up right hook. Instinctively, he flattened his hand and used the curve between his thumb and pointer finger to throat punch. The fucker retreated and narrowed his eyes before he snarled and approached again. Ryker ducked the left cross and slammed a driving punch with his good hand into the bastard’s ribs.

The man gasped as he dropped back. His eyes narrowed as a feral snarl curled his lip before he moved forward again. Ryker bounced on his toes, keeping his bad arm pinned to his stomach. The bastard might have had a throwing star, but he wasn’t well trained. Ryker sneered at the bastard and returned the taunt. “I love a good fight, too.” He bolted forward and elevated his good arm high over the man’s head, bringing the other man's arms up to block a blow that would never come. He kicked the bastard’s knee. The joint popped, and he went down partway.

The perp snapped forward, sending his arm in an arc. His fist landed on Ryker’s injured shoulder. Black spots ravaged his vision and his knees gave out. He went down like a fucking rock. The bastard came at him, his rage pinpointed on Ryker’s neck, and the perp locked both hands around it.

His reflex actions from countless hours on the training mat kicked in. Ryker bridged his back, trapped the man’s arms with his good arm, slipped his foot to the outside of the man’s leg, and flipped them both to the side. He rolled them, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he threw a left hook. The guy went limp and Ryker sat back on his heels.

The fucker was still breathing. Thank God. He stared at the man's face. Other than seeing him tonight with Brie, he'd never seen the man before. Was he a major player in the Cartel? Had he killed Peña and Rubio? Was he the top of the organization now? So many fucking questions and not a single answer. Yet.

Black spots still danced in front of his eyes. He blinked them clear and groaned as he stood up. He stared at the man he’d cuffed earlier. The guy wasn’t even trying to move. Smart man. He bent and picked up his weapon and then looked for his radio. Damn it, where had it gone?

A rush of feet breached the mouth of the alley. Uniformed officers leveled their weapons and screamed for him to drop his weapon.

Ryker hung his head and stared at the word POLICE emblazoned down his leg and across his chest