Under A Winter Sun Johan Dahlgren (digital e reader .txt) 📖

snaps, and he goes limp. I roll his lifeless body over my shoulder and it slumps into a mess of arms and legs on the floor. The two remaining men back away and circle me, just out of range. The screams of the man with the broken knee echo around the empty warehouse.

They haven't said a word so far. Another sure sign of professionals. There's no reason to talk to your assignment.

I have learned two things. They know who I am, and they want me alive. If they worked for the people I first thought they did, they wouldn't waste time on this martial arts crap. They'd just kill me. They know me too well to give me a sporting chance like this. No, this must be something else.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” I call out into the darkness over my shoulder while keeping a careful eye on my circling opponents.

No reply. I figured as much.

The two men reach their positions on my flanks and get ready to strike. The girl on the chair has raised her head and looks at us. She could be watching a dull cage fight for all the interest she displays. They must have drugged her.

As on a signal, the men rush me. I go for the man on the right. He's the uglier of the two.

I twist and put a foot out to trip him, then grab his outstretched arm and pull him off balance and use his momentum to throw him into the man coming from the other direction. The horrible sound of two thick skulls cracking against each other echoes around the hangar. They both drop without so much as a whimper.

It's all over in less than ten seconds. Two men dead, one with a broken leg and two possible broken necks. Not a bad score for an old man.

I walk up to the girl on the chair and kneel at her side, searching for the ropes. “I'm gonna get you out of here. We need to go before more of them show up.” This is far too easy.

“Is that so?”

I know that voice.

I look up. It's her. The woman from the Lady of Heaven. The one who slipped me the note. I should have known.

That's when I realise the guy with the broken knee has fallen silent.

I can't find any ropes.

“Behind you, Perez.”

Too late I register the slick metallic sound of a gun cocking behind me and I know I'm done for. I close my eyes. Mostly from the shame of being outsmarted. Even I can't dodge a bullet to the brain from point-blank range.

The shot rings out and I wait for my skull to explode.

It doesn't. Not that I would have had time to savour the experience, but still. There's a heavy, meaty thud as if a body drops behind me.

“You're fine, Perez.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fucking amateurs.” There's a smoking gun in the woman's hand.

One of those guns. The ones that kill people like yours truly. Was that gun meant for me?

What the hell is going on here?

I get up and take a few careful steps back. “Why the theatrics? You could have just asked me if you wanted a date.”

She doesn't reply. Instead, she gets up from the chair and casually tosses the gun away. It clatters away into the darkness. It's a one-shot weapon, and she knows that. I've only seen a gun like that once before, and that was years ago. A brief memory flashes across the silver screen of my mind. A memory of spiky red hair and a promise.

The woman stretches her arms and lets the hooded cloak drop to the floor. Underneath, she wears a heavy military issue charcoal-grey jumpsuit. The chest, shoulders, knees, and elbows are armoured with angled hypercarbon plating. There's a large dust-coloured scarf around her neck. Special ops gear. Her black hair is tied back in a ponytail and a straight-cut fringe hangs down to her eyebrows. Her skin is paler than the universal norm, but she's got the deep tan of someone with an outdoor job. She means serious business.

She moves in, deliberately closing the gap between us.

“They were right, you know.”

She stares me hard in the eye. She's got beautiful brown eyes. The colour of oak-aged whisky. “You are good.”

Her face is now close to mine. I can smell her sweet breath and our noses almost touch.

“Thanks.”

So, she knows my name. This gets more intriguing by the minute.

Her lips are beautiful and cruel, and she smells of strawberries and fine tobacco. “Now let's see how good you really are.”

She kicks the legs out from under me and I drop like I've been axed. I twist and turn the fall into a quick shoulder-roll and I'm back on my feet a healthy distance away from her.

“All right, you've got my curiosity piqued, girl.”

I crack my neck to get the kinks out and get ready for another quick fight. “Who are you?”

We circle the edge of the pool of light, measuring each other, staying well out of each other's reach.

“I'm Soledad.”

“Nice to meet you, Soledad.” I tip an imaginary hat to her. “But I was thinking more 'who the fuck are you people'?”

“We are the ones sent to find you where others have failed.”

“What, you and those clowns?” I jab a thumb over my shoulder at the dead and dying men on the floor.

She shrugs. “They were just hired help.”

“Staff these days …”

We keep circling.

“Do you think we'd only send amateurs like them after you? Show us some respect at least.”

“You've sent amateurs after me in the past.”

“That was the past.”

“So, you work for the immortals. I always wondered when they'd bring in the cavalry.”

Her failure to react when I mention the immortals tells me I'm right.

“But if you work for them, you know who I am. You know what I am. And you must know you can't win this fight.”

“Yes, I know what you are.” She cracks her fingers. “And I know I can win