Free Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel by Alex Bledsoe

threw it to one side to confuse potential ambushers.
    He didn’t see me against the wall beside the door. I stepped forward and kicked him hard in the small of the back. It knocked him across the room into the table. He spun around, his sword slashing at the air behind him. Nothing wrong with his reflexes, that’s for sure.
    I blocked his next backhand with my sword, locked our blades together and stepped too close for either of us to do anything. “This doesn’t have to get messy,” I said. “I just want some answers.”
    The man said nothing. He was under thirty, with short black hair and a thin ribbon of beard and mustache. His eyes were wide and dark, with no visible feeling. A young hotshot thug, on the way up.
    He tried to muscle his sword past me, but I had them wedged together in a way that took little effort to maintain. Surprise flicked across his face as he realized it.
    “What do you say?” I said. “Shall we put these down and talk? There’s money in it for you.”
    His jaw muscles trembled with the effort to wrench his weapon free, but he made no sound. Then suddenly he quit struggling entirely, and I fell for it. He yanked his sword away and rolled around the edge of the table, putting the furniture between us. The ceiling was so low he couldn’t manage a vertical killing blow at my exposed neck, but I barely got my sword up to block his horizontal slice. My parry drove the edge of his blade into the table’s wood, where it bit solid. In the moment it took him to twist it loose I’d dropped my own sword, scrambled over the table and hit him hard right between the eyes.
    I felt the impact into my shoulder and down my spine, and the sensation of finally having someone to actually punch overwhelmed me. As he staggered from the first blow, I grabbed the front of his tunic with my left hand and punched him again, across the jaw. When I released him he stumbled back into the wall but kept to his feet. I jabbed my left fist into his kidneys. He grunted, the first noise he’d made, and fell to one knee. Either I’d lost my touch or this guy was really, really tough. I got my answer when he suddenly drove a punch that felt like an anvil into my stomach.
    If he’d connected with my sternum it might’ve knocked the wind from me, but as it was I stumbled across the room, off-balance but not really hurt. I fell over one of the spindly chairs and when I looked up he was leaping over it, boots aimed at my face. I rolled aside and he hit the floor with a thud that made me glad I wasn’t under it.
    I picked up the fallen chair and used it to drive him back against the wall. While I tried to pin him with my weight, I punched him again in the face. It had no real effect except to make my hand hurt. “Will you stop it?” I yelled, my voice tight from his gut punch. “I just want to talk to you!”
    He braced against the wall and easily shoved me back. He grabbed the chair away from me and threw it out a window. Blood ran from his nose, the only real sign I’d had that he was a human being. He swung at me, but I dodged it and backed away. He kept after me, breath hissing through his teeth and spraying out bloody spittle.
    I skidded in the dregs of tacky blood beneath the manacles. The sudden recollection that it belonged to Laura refreshed my temper, and I ducked under his next swing to drive a punch with all my weight, strength and fury into his side. I felt something solid give way and heard a wet, muffled snap. He made an “ Oof! ” sound and fell to his knees.
    I stayed out of arm’s reach as he cradled his side and gasped. When he looked at me, his eyes showed his agony. I punched him again in the temple. My knuckles would hate me tomorrow, but for the moment I felt completely righteous. I hit him again, but it was wasted because he was already out from the last one. All this one did was knock him over.
    As soon as he hit the floor my own head spun, and I grabbed for the nearest wall. The back of my