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first to the ground.
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Ryan stood and watched as Dog's death spasms slowly ceased. He was gasping in
lungfuls of air and probing gingerly at the raw abrasions on his face. Every tendon, every
muscle in his body was alive with pain. His head throbbed, in cadence with his pulse. The
world tilted around him and he sank to his knees.
Then voices were roaring, shouting and cursing all around him, and rough hands hauled
him to his feet. He blinked his eye against the glare of torches and flashlights. Around
him he could see members of the Family, all white with fury and outrage.
"The son of a bitch murdered Dog. Hold him, gimme my knife!" shrilled a male voice
that Ryan recognized as Phil's.
Ryan struggled against the hands and arms pinioning him, but he was held fast. Fleur,
silhouetted by the flickering torchlight, came striding toward him.
"It's as I said," she shouted. "He's a pig, an insurgent, an East Coast spy!"
"You're full of shit!" Ryan croaked. "Dog was a drugged animal, and you set me up to
kill him, you lying "
The back of Fleur's hand smacked across Ryan's mouth, his teeth cutting into his lower
lip. He reeled backward and spit crimson at her feet.
"Blood for Family blood!" Fleur shouted. "It's the justice of Charlie!"
Then Hellstrom was there, borne in his chair by four sec men. His face was hidden by the
shadows, but light was reflected from his eyes like a pair of tiny stars.
"What is going on here, Cawdor?" he demanded.
Fleur began shrieking before Ryan could collect his wits. She began a furious tirade
about how Ryan was deceiving Hellstrom and everyone in the Family, how he had been
plotting to betray them to the freezies in Mount Rushmore, about how he was on a secret
mission from East Coast baronies, how he had tried to convince Dog to turn traitor, cold-
bloodedly murdering the hapless sec man when he was in a sedated condition, simply
because he refused to be party to the treachery.
Raging, Ryan roared, "She lies, Hellstrom! She's jealous of me, she hates me because I
saved her life and then spurned her "
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A fist struck Ryan painfully and with terrific force in the belly, and he was robbed of all
breath. He sagged in the grips of the men holding him. Hellstrom motioned for Ryan's
captors to release him. He found that his legs wouldn't support him and he fell to his
hands and knees, hanging his head and sucking in lungful after lungful of air.
Hellstrom patiently waited for Ryan to stand up again before he spoke. His angular face
was expressionless, but he was in a bind, and Ryan saw the knowledge of it in his eyes.
He didn't believe Fleur's accusations, and he still had a use for Ryan and his people.
However, he had to assert his patriarchal status in the eyes of the Family.
"I want no more violence between you two. If you're making me choose between the pair
of you, it'll have to be settled in combat."
Fleur said angrily, "He's an outsider, not Family. We kill outsiders who violate our laws.
He hasn't earned the right."
"Shut up!" Hellstrom roared. The unexpected fracture in his icy, controlled reserve
startled everyone into shamed silence. "I'm ceding him the right! I'll put off the war
council until this matter is settled."
Fleur ducked her head and murmured, "I beg forgiveness."
Then a smile crossed her face. She eyed Ryan with a murderous glee and declared, "A
track stand."
Ryan didn't say anything for a moment. He remembered what he had overheard of track
stands two combatants, both astride motorcycles, each armed with only a whip, a knife
and the individual warrior's skill. He wasn't at all certain he was qualified. His experience
with motorcycles was limited. Nor was he confident he could handle Fleur, a cold heart
whose crazed ego demanded Ryan's life.
"Well?" Hellstrom challenged. "Are you up to it?"
Ryan wiped a thread of blood from his lower lip, surveyed the expectant faces all around
him and said, "Name the time and place."
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Chapter Seventeen
Ryan awoke at dawn, feeling as if all the bones in his body were stitched together at the
joints by wire. Everyone was awake, and they crowded into the room he shared with
Krysty.
Mildred brought him coffee, and J.B. handed over the eighteen-inch panga. "I've spent
the last hour sharpening it," he said. "It ought to cut through plate steel."
"Or that bitch's throat," Krysty said coldly.
Heavy footfalls sounded out in the hall, and a knock came at the door. Ryan opened it.
Six sec men, all holding Tec-10 machine pistols, stood there. Phil was in the lead, though
because of his freshly shorn appearance, Ryan didn't recognize him at first. His scalp was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]