Free Viper Moon by Lee Roland Page A

shoulder holsters.
    Carlos Dacardi might control the Duivel underworld, but he had no hold in the Barrows. Theron ruled human vice in the Barrows. A venomous man, his primary business ventures included prostitution and porno movies with money laundered through the Den. A buyer and worldwide distributor of kiddie porn, he paid hard cash for anything that starred children.
    Theron stood and stalked toward me. I tried to step away so I could at least draw my knife, but Michael clutched me tight and I couldn’t move.
    “Fucking bitch,” Theron snarled at me. “You crippled my best cameraman.”
    “Yeah, you should have been there, asshole.” I stuffed all my contempt into my voice. “He cried like a little kid when I broke his . . . camera.” I had seriously damaged his filthy, pedophile cameraman when I rescued Maxie Fountain a few weeks ago. I’d interrupted a filming session, and hearing Maxie beg the son of a bitch not to hurt him again was more than I could stand.
    I twisted, but tenacious Michael drew me tighter. A sliver of fear crawled up my spine. What was he doing? Holding me so Theron could attack me?
    Theron drew a knife. “I’m going to cut you, bitch. Hurt you bad.”
    Michael released me, spun me away. By the time I twisted around, he had Theron by his wrist. The snap of bone sounded above Theron’s single cry of pain. The knife fell to the carpet. The bodyguards reacted—seconds too late. Michael shoved Theron into one guard and the two men crashed to the floor. The second managed to get off a single silencer-muted shot. Michael snarled like a wolf. The bullet grazed his arm near the shoulder and slammed into a picture on the wall. Shattered glass tinkled as it hit the floor.
    Michael caught the shooter by his shirt and belt, lifted him like a child’s toy, and threw him at the glass window overlooking the dance floor. Only the window wasn’t glass and it didn’t break. The man slammed into the clear Plexiglas wall with a meaty thump, hung suspended for a fraction of a second, then slid to the floor and didn’t move.
    When Michael released the goon for his flying lesson, he immediately turned back to Theron and the other guard. The guard’s gun lay a few feet from his hand, but Theron’s struggling body pinned him down. Michael kicked the gun away, then kicked the guard in the head. The man drew one sharp breath, released it, and his body went limp.
    Michael grabbed Theron by his shirt and hair and hauled him to his feet. Theron screamed once, a single shrill cry that cut off midbreath.
    “Cassandra.” I jumped when Michael spoke my name. “Pericles looks a little tired. Why don’t you find him a chair?”
    I hurried over and dragged a chair from behind the desk. This scene went against all my training and the concept that I was the one who controlled the violence in my life. I didn’t complain, though.
    Michael sat Theron in the chair with surprising gentleness. Theron seemed physically shrunken. Other than drawing fast, deep breaths, he didn’t make any noise. His arm hung down, but when Michael released him, he drew it up and cradled it with the uninjured one. The swelling lump on his wrist had to be extremely painful. Since I’ve had more than my share of broken bones, I could feel some empathy, but I didn’t have any true compassion for a man who brutalized children. I studied Michael for a brief moment. He had suddenly shown an aptitude for violence I’d never seen. Maybe some of those rumors were true.
    Michael stood in front of Theron. “Cassandra needs to ask you questions. I think you should answer them.” His voice sounded pleasant, but it had a biting, deadly edge. I damn sure didn’t want Michael the Archangel as an enemy.
    Theron nodded. He ignored me now, opting to keep his eyes on the real danger standing in front of him.
    “Show him the pictures, Cass,” Michael said.
    I fished Richard’s and Selene’s photos out of my jacket pocket and held them in front of