Page 71 of The Fourth Option
Walker heard footsteps upstairs. The screaming had stopped. Now there were voices, guttural, too muffled to make out what they were saying but it sounded like Spanish.
He turned a corner and looked up the stairs into the eyes of a soon-to-be dead man on the landing.
In the confines of the house, Walker’s gunshots sounded like cannons as he put four rounds into the chest of a man with a tattooed face, in jeans and a checked shirt, a man who didn’t even have time to raise the gigantic stainless Desert Eagle pistol in his right hand.
Surprise is gone. Push the speed. Lean into the violence.
Walker sprinted up the stairs, putting another round into the head of the man holding the Desert Eagle as he gained the top landing with Paladin off his right knee.
There were two options at the top of the staircase, but it was clear that the dead man had come from the left.
The sisal carpet Leigh Ann used as a runner over the dark mahogany was crooked. A blood streak ran down the ivory wall below the family photos.
A tattooed face emerged from the room at the end of the hallway.
Walker’s 9mm round caught him in the chin and sent him stumbling back into the room. The former SEAL followed him in, quickly scanning for additional threats and putting two more bullets into the man’s head.
The bedroom was spacious with a high ceiling rimmed with ornate crown molding. A fan rotated above a king-sized bed. One of the French doors leading to a small balcony was open. The drawers of both bedside tables had been pulled out and emptied onto the floor, as had the drawers from the dresser and armoire.
Leigh Ann sat slumped in a chair, tied, gagged, her blouse torn, hair tumbling around her face. Before Walker checked her pulse, he knew that she was dead. The claw hammer on the floor, covered with matted hair and blood, spoke to how she met her end.
The mother. The son. The father. All dead.
Walker took his fingers from the side of her neck and quickly cleared the attached bathroom and balcony. He heard tires squeal in the street and unsuccessfully tried to make out the type of vehicle that was so quickly departing.
Walker rushed back into the room, holstered his pistol, and reached for his blade to cut Leigh Ann from the chair.
It was Paladin who saved his life.
The Malinois leaped toward the bedroom door, attacking the arm holding the weapon, which in this case was another AK-variant pistol. Paladin’s teeth tore into the forearm of the overmuscled man in the black T-shirt, who squeezed the trigger and sent a round into the floor while he continued toward Walker, a primal scream emanating from his tattooed lips. The man towered over six feet tall and looked like he had ingested a steady diet of steroids, growth hormone, and testosterone since birth.
He dropped the AK, hurled Paladin into a wall, and pressed his forward charge at the SEAL.
Walker went for his pistol, but the large man barreled into him before his hand could index the grip. Walker heard glass break as they crashedthrough the pane on the French door that was still closed. He felt a shard slice through his skin as the big man took him to the ground.
Walker was pinned to the deck by his throat, the man’s massive left hand cutting off his air supply as his right rose up to strike.
With his pistol and the slung AK trapped beneath him, Walker went for the Regiment Blade at his appendix, drew it, and punched it into his attacker’s left pubic bone, slightly below the man’s left hip.
The banger howled in agony, his hands instinctively going to the source of the pain. Walker attempted to call Paladin, but even with the pressure released from his windpipe his voice was temporarily stifled. In this case he didn’t need to say a word. The dog knew his job, and had a running start. He hit their aggressor at full speed, attacking the bicep of his right arm, teeth crushing through skin, muscle, tendon, and into bone, a growl emanating from his throat, ancient in origin.
That was the opening Walker needed. He twisted the blade in the man’s pubic bone and used it as a lever as he trapped the giant’s left hand while also ensnaring the man’s left leg with his right. He then thrust his hips up and bridged to the right, taking the tattooed man with him.
With the man now on his back, Paladin clamped onto his chest, tearing through the meaty flesh before moving to the throat.
A dog biting and tearing near one’s neck triggers the most primal of fears, harkening back to the days when wolves hunted in packs, subduing and consuming their prey in a bid for survival.
The big man’s eyes were wide with fright, and a guttural howl escaped his lips as he thrashed, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the devil upon him.
Walker rolled away from his assailant to make sure he did not accidently cut his dog. He sheathed his blade, and brought his hand to his pistol as he stood, gasping for breath.
“Los,” he shouted, giving Paladin the command to release.
Immediately Paladin let go of the man’s bleeding neck and returned to his handler’s side.
The man struggled to his knees, bringing his hands to his larynx as blood poured from the wounds.
“Hijo de puta,” he sputtered.
