Free Denouement by E. H. Reinhard Page B

forward and snapped his teeth down, catching the thumb and index finger of the agent’s left hand in his mouth. Ray sank his teeth in and clenched his jaw as hard as he could. He ripped his head from side to side like a dog attacking a steak. The fed screamed in agony and tried to pull his hand free. Ray’s neck muscles flexed as he tried to keep his hold on the fed’s hand.
    Ray watched Faust cock his right hand and deliver another fist to his nose. The blow was hard enough that Ray’s grip on the fed’s hand released. Then the agent retreated to the kitchen. Ray didn’t know if the blood in his mouth was his own or the fed’s. He spat it on the floor and laughed. The agent feverishly tried to attend to the wound, which gave Ray a window.
    Ray stared down at his hands. He flexed every muscle in his upper body. He felt the tape tighten around him. In a single violent motion, he tried to pull his arms from his sides. The tape loosened and stretched but didn’t give. He repeated the process three times before the area around his stomach ripped. The fed glanced over from the sink as he ran water over his bloody hand, and Ray stopped moving. Faust looked back down to inspect the wound. Ray planted his feet flat against the floor. Then he pressed down, stood, and pulled with all his might, screaming. The tape ripped free. Faust’s head spun toward Ray. The chair still hung to Ray’s backside. Faust lunged from the sink and scrambled for the gun on the countertop, but his wet hands pawed off of it. Ray jerked his arms around, freeing himself from the chair. He went straight for the agent as he was lifting the gun to fire. Ray cocked back a right fist as he advanced.
    Faust dropped the gun and brought his left arm up to block Ray’s strike. Ray faked and delivered a left uppercut to the agent’s jaw, almost lifting Faust from his feet. Faust flew back into the kitchen cupboards. Ray grabbed him around the head and brought his knee up into Faust’s face. He felt the agent go limp. Ray kneed him in the face again.
    “Special forces, huh?” Ray said. He followed his words with yet another knee to Faust’s face. “Black Dolphin prison.” Ray released his hold on Faust’s head and let his body drop to the wooden floor of the kitchen. “Bitch.”
    Ray reached down and scooped the gun from the floor. He gripped it and pointed the barrel down at the agent’s head. With his foot, Ray turned the agent’s body face up so he could send the bullet home through Faust’s forehead. Ray pulled the trigger, but it didn’t budge. Ray checked the side of the gun for a safety, confirmed it was off, and tried pulling the trigger again. Again, the gun didn’t fire.
    “What the hell?” Ray said.
    He stared at the gun in his hand. On the finger side of the grip was a one-inch-square box inlaid into the handle. Ray tried pressing it and firing—nothing. The room to Ray’s right lit up. The light had to have been from a car coming down the driveway. Ray exited the back patio door and tossed the agent’s gun into the pool on the way out. He heard the sound of car doors slamming shut as he jogged from the back of the yard.

Chapter 12
    I reached over for my phone to check the time. The screen lit and told me it was ten after one in the morning. I didn’t know if the coffee or the thought of Azarov roaming the streets was keeping me up.
    I’d been lying on my office couch for hours without as much as a wink of sleep. My mind refused to turn off. I spent a good hour thinking about Callie and my family hiding out in that hotel. Another hour passed, of thinking about the murdered FBI agents. I almost fell asleep once but was woken by Jones’s booming laugh out in the bullpen. To make matters worse, every time I closed my eyes, I saw phone numbers. I reached out and grabbed the bottle of water I’d gotten in the lunch room an hour prior. I took a sip, rolled onto my back, and stared at the drop ceiling of my office.
    I closed my eyes