Read The Rock for Free Online Page B

eyes grey and dull.
    ‘Who hooked you up with Dave Hands?’ Gardner asked. ‘Killen and Stone reckoned you met on some diamond job, but them boys talk such shit.’
    ‘Fucking do one.’
    Gill glimpsed the Glock lying two metres behind him. He has any bright ideas, the walls get a fresh lick of paint.
    A
click
to Gardner’s six o’clock. The noise distracted him and he half-turned, spotting a woman in his peripheral vision as she ran out of her room. ‘He’s got a gun!’ she screamed.
    Gill shoulder-barged the walnut door of room 39. Busted it and lunged through the gap.
    Gardner hesitated. John can’t know you’re alive, he told himself. But if I don’t stop Gill, he’s a dead man.
    He had no choice, and dived inside with the Sig close to his chest, the elbow of his shooting arm tucked in at his side.
    He expected to find Gill. But the room was pitch-black. A strip of light from the bathroom outlined the bed, desk, wardrobe. Then he saw movement ahead. He steadied himself, depressed the trigger a little, and as his eyes adjusted he made out net curtains flapping like a dress above an air vent. The doors leading on to the balcony were open.
    Gardner stilled his breath. Heard blood rushing in his ears. Stepped deeper into the hotel room. It looked for all the world like Bald had jumped.
    He felt a pressure in his right ear. The horizon slid like a boat on its beam ends and next thing he knew, his head was crashing into the wardrobe. Gill.
    The fucker stood in the bathroom doorway. He swung a boot at Gardner’s torso. Something cracked. He felt a rush of air shoot up his windpipe, and, shit, everything hurt.
    Gill gave it everything he had and then some. He stomped on Gardner’s right hand, grinding the knuckles under his heel.
    He then started to aim a kick at Gardner’s gut. But the slow backlift gave Gardner enough time to expel the air in his body. He pushed out his abs, honed by years of crunches, creating a rock-solid wall between his stomach and Gill’s Caterpillar. The blow was painful, steel toecaps meeting hard flesh, but it didn’t knock him for six.
    Gardner took a hold of the leg pressing down on his gut, flung it high into the air, shoulder and forearm muscles working overtime. Gill unbalanced. Fell flat on his arsehole.
    In for the kill.
    Gill had his fingers on the brass threshold in the bathroom doorway when Gardner gave him the good news, grabbing hold of a clump of his thinning hair and yanking his head up. Then he brought it down to the floor. Hard. Again. Three, four, five times. Six, seven. Until the carpet was a Sangria stain.
    Gill launched a hand at Gardner’s face, fingers crawling over his neck and mouth like angry spiders. Then Gardner saw he had something in his other hand – a four-inch Sebenza blade. He crunched Gill’s wrist with his Timberland, forcing him to release the knife.
    ‘Stupid cunt,’ he breathed into the guy’s face.
    But he’s not going to give up, a voice warned him. It’s him or you.
    He kicked Gill in the face to daze him, then hauled his body into the bathroom, the fucker clawing at his legs. A year of being forced to rely on his right arm for heavy lifting had strengthened Gardner’s biceps, triceps and flexors on that side, but he still found Gill a heavy load. Steroid-pumped muscles surrounded by several inches of boozy fat made it feel like dragging a two-ton truck. Gardner was breathless by the time he dumped Gill by the toilet. As he sucked in air he felt the entire valley of his ribcage sting.
    Gill wasn’t stupid: the old Para could see what was coming as Gardner stunned him with an elbow to the jaw. Lifting the toilet seat, Gardner thrust him head-first into the can. Forced him down far enough that his face was submerged in piss water. Pressed a boot to the nape of his neck and nailed his head in place. Gill thrashed about. But Gardner’s control was total. He held his stance and listened to the life gurgle out of the man’s mouth.
    Gill’s