The bullets tore into the expensive sofa, sending feathers and stuffing into the air like snow. Adam landed hard on the marble floor, rolling toward the fireplace.
Karim had ducked behind the bar, pouring himself another drink, seemingly bored by the assassination attempt. "Don't kill him yet, Vargo! Break his legs first. I want him to watch his brother bleed out."
Vargo moved with a terrifying calmness. He didn't rush. He walked, his gun tracking the room. He was a professional. He didn't get excited. He just executed.
Adam crawled behind the heavy oak coffee table. He checked his magazine. Three rounds left.
He looked over at Youssef. His brother was dragging himself toward the kitchenette, leaving a trail of red. He was alive, but he was out of the fight.
"Come out, little ghost," Vargo called out. "I remember you. You screamed a lot for a mute boy."
The memory of the knife slicing his throat flashed through Adam's mind. The fear. The helplessness.
But that boy was dead. The man behind the table was something else.
Adam spotted the fire poker in the hearth. It was iron, heavy. He grabbed it.
He listened to Vargo's footsteps. Click on marble. Pause. Click.
Vargo was moving to flank him.
Adam waited. He slowed his breathing. He visualized the room in his head—the angles, the obstacles.
Vargo stepped into view from the left.
Adam exploded from behind the table. He swung the fire poker with both hands.
Vargo was fast. He blocked the iron rod with his forearm, the metal clanging loudly. He countered with a knee to Adam's ribs.
Adam grunted, the air leaving his lungs, but he twisted with the blow, using the momentum to sweep Vargo's legs.
Vargo jumped, avoiding the sweep, and fired a shot. The bullet grazed Adam's thigh.
Adam hissed in pain but didn't stop. He dropped the poker and lunged, tackling Vargo around the waist. They slammed into the glass coffee table, shattering it.
They rolled across the floor in a grappling match. It was brutal and ugly. No style. Just violence.
Vargo was stronger, his grip like a vise. He got his hands around Adam's throat. He squeezed.
Adam clawed at Vargo's face, his fingers digging for the eyes.
"I crushed your voice box once," Vargo hissed, his face inches from Adam's. "I'll crush your skull this time."
Black spots danced in Adam's vision. He was losing oxygen.
He reached for his belt. His fingers brushed the handle of his tanto knife.
He didn't try to pull Vargo's hands away. Instead, he drove the knife upward into Vargo's armpit, aiming for the gap in the body armor.
Vargo screamed. He released Adam, clutching his arm.
Adam scrambled backward, gasping for air. He grabbed his gun from the floor.
Vargo was already up, his left arm hanging useless, but his right hand still held the pistol.
They faced each other across the ruined room. A standoff.
"Enough!" Karim shouted from behind the bar. He stood up, holding a grenade. He pulled the pin. "Everyone stops, or I blow us all to hell."
Adam lowered his gun slightly. Vargo hesitated, then lowered his.
Karim laughed, a manic sound. "This is entertainment. This is what power looks like."
Suddenly, a bottle smashed against the back of Karim's head.
It was Youssef.
Karim dropped the grenade. Youssef kicked it across the room toward Vargo.
"Run, Adam!" Youssef yelled.
Vargo's eyes went wide. He scrambled to kick the grenade back, but he was too slow.
BOOM.
The explosion wasn't huge—the grenade was defensive, a stun grenade—but in the enclosed space, the pressure wave was devastating.
The glass windows shattered outward. The room filled with white smoke and deafening noise.
Adam was thrown backward, his ears ringing. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear.
He felt a hand grab his collar. It was Youssef. Youssef was dragging him, coughing, blood soaking his shirt.
They stumbled toward the balcony door. The wind howled through the broken glass, sucking the smoke out.
Adam grabbed Youssef, trying to support him. He looked at his brother. Youssef was pale, barely conscious.
Why? Adam signed.
"Because..." Youssef coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Because I owe you... a life."
Gunfire erupted from the smoke. Vargo was still shooting.
Adam didn't argue. He helped Youssef to the railing of the balcony. Below, the drop was lethal.
"Go," Youssef whispered. He slumped against the railing. "I'm done, Adam. I can't make the jump. And I won't go back to prison."
Adam shook his head. He grabbed Youssef's jacket.
"I'm the reason they're dead," Youssef said, pushing Adam away. "I'm the traitor. Not Karim. Me. You finish this. Kill Karim."
Youssef pulled a flash drive from his pocket and shoved it into Adam's hand.
"The evidence," Youssef wheezed. "Everything. Offshore accounts. The trafficking. It's all here. Take it."
Vargo stepped out of the smoke, his face bleeding, his arm limp. He raised his gun.
Adam looked at Youssef, then at Vargo. There was no time.
Adam grabbed the parachute cord he had used to enter the building, still anchored to the railing. He clipped it to his harness.
He looked at his brother one last time. Youssef smiled—a sad, broken smile—and raised his hands to surrender to Vargo, buying Adam the seconds he needed.
"Forgive me," Youssef mouthed.
Adam jumped.
He plummeted toward the dark ocean, the wind tearing the tears from his eyes. The last thing he saw was Youssef falling to his knees as Vargo stood over him.
Adam hit the water hard. The cold shock enveloped him, swallowing his scream of rage.
He swam underwater, putting distance between himself and the hotel, the drive clutched in his fist like a diamond.