Cairo. This one was full of malevolence and a blinding hatred she could never understand.
“This is all your fault, you know. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. And now look where we are.” His accent didn’t sound Brazilian anymore. It was very thickly Middle Eastern, and with his long hair and beard, he fit the terrorist profile better than she could have ever predicted.
She scrambled to her feet.
He threw a chair out of his way as he advanced toward her, eyes dark and evil. “Prove a point. Make my mark. I was doing that until you fucked it all up for me. No one was getting hurt.” She darted behind the table. “Then they came at me. Said it was my problem. That you were my fuckup. That I needed to fix it. Fix you. You should have died that night in the tomb. Then Shannon would still be alive.”
Her eyes flicked to the scar running down his cheek. The scar, she realized, she’d put there. He’d been the one to grab her from behind. He’d lured her, disappeared, then tried to kill her. He just hadn’t expected her to fight back.
“It should have been you who was gutted, not Shannon,” he growled as he threw another chair to the side. “Not her.”
And, oh…shit. She realized then she was in serious trouble here. What had Bertrand told her in the park? Minyawi’s been on a killing spree for five years. Rose in the ranks of his group like wildfire spreads across a dry valley. The man Kat had known six years ago was definitely not the same one she was staring at now. If he hadn’t killed Shannon, then it meant his organization had. To get to Kat. And he hadn’t been able to stop it. Which meant he had double the reason to want to see Kat suffer.
Her adrenaline surged. She stumbled backward when he moved forward.
“No one’s coming for you, woman. Before this is over you will beg me to kill you.”
The hell she would.
When he came at her, she threw a chair from the kitchen table into him. He grunted as it hit him in the knee, then tossed it aside as if it were kindling. And still he kept coming.
“Run from me,” he growled. “That’s it. Run. It’ll be that much better when I catch you and make you pay. I’ve been practicing. All these years, just waiting to make you pay like Shannon did.”
The kitchen was big, but Kat was quickly running out of space. She couldn’t beat him in a hand-to-hand fight. Her only option was to escape and regroup. She spotted the side door that led to the back stairs and turned to run. He dove for her, grasped her ankle, and pulled her down with him before she even got three steps away.
Her body hit the floor hard. She grunted in pain, kicking and struggling, but he flipped her to her back like she was a rag doll.
“Get off me!”
He wrestled her hands, grasped them at the wrists and pinned them beside her head. She continued to fight with everything she had, remembering what Pete had told her he’d done to Bertrand’s wife. Knowing if she lost here, she was dead.
Don’t let Pete be dead.
He growled close to her ear. “I like it when they fight back. Now beg. Beg me not to hurt you. Just like Shannon did before they cut her.”
“No!” Sickness rose in Kat’s stomach. She lifted her knee, nearly landed a jab in his groin, but he moved just before she made contact. The back of his hand sliced through the air and connected with her cheek with a loud crack.
“Do it!” he screamed. He shifted his legs so he had both of hers pinned beneath the weight of his body.
She lashed out. Her hand broke free. She dug her fingernails into his left eye. Blood spurted over her face and chest, making her gag. He screeched and jerked back, one hand flying to his face, the other still holding her tight. She turned her head slightly and saw her gun lying mere feet from her, just out of her grasp.
She was so close.
She kicked, tried to free herself, but he was too strong. Sweat and blood ran down her cheek.
He roared, and a menacing rage coated his features until she barely recognized him anymore. He wrapped his free hand around her throat and squeezed until she was sure her veins would burst.