The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) by R.D. Brady Read Free Book Online Page B

followed by a round kick to his knee.  The man put his hands up to cover his face as she aimed a series of straight punches that would have decimated a lesser man.  He blocked them with ease.
    “Now, this is a nice surprise.”  He grinned, catching her fist.  “Someone who can fight.” 
    He flung her fist back, followed by a right jab to the face. 
    She parried the punch, ready to respond, but then a flurry of punches followed.  She had no time to respond, only to block.  The speed and power of his movements was incredible.  She blocked a hook to the ribs only to miss the jab to her face.  She spun around with the force of the punch.  Her stomach jammed painfully into the island. 
    He wrenched her back by the shoulder, but not before her hand closed around one of the knives in the block sitting on the island. 
    Turning her around, he dragged her towards him.  “This has been fun, Professor.  But I think it’s time to end this dance.”
    “I agree,” Laney spit out.  She plunged the knife into his stomach and twisted it. 
    He howled in pain.  Laney collapsed to the ground and began to crawl for the back door.
    “You bitch.” He threw himself on top of her. Pain exploded in her cheekbone and ribs as they collided with the floor.  He rolled her over, keeping her pinned, the knife now at her throat. 
    She screamed, bringing her knee up into his groin. 
    With a groan, he loosened his grip.  Twisting his wrist, she stripped the knife from his hand.  It skittered across the floor, out of reach. 
    Keeping his wrist bent, she got a knee in between them, punching him in the face over and over again.  Working her other leg up, she kicked him in the chest.  She slid back along the floor, giving her just enough distance between them to kick him in the face.  Using both feet, she slammed them into his face, launching him on to his back. 
    She rolled to her feet and sprinted for the hall closet, ignoring the ache in her ribs and cheek.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Paul as he struggled to his feet, trying to catch his breath. 
    Flinging open the closet door, she frantically pawed at the top shelf. 
    “Come on, come on,” she begged. 
    Her hand closed around the metal shaft of the double-barreled shotgun her uncle insisted she keep in the house.  She yanked it down and whirled around, her finger on the trigger, as Paul rounded the corner.
    He halted, his eyes on the gun.  “My, my, my.  You really are full of surprises.  Well, here’s a little surprise for you:  That won't stop me.” 
    He sprang at her. 
    She pulled the trigger, catching him in the right shoulder at close range.  He flew back, crashing into the wall, and slid down, a trail of blood following his descent.
    Shaking, she kept the gun trained on the prone man, giving him a wide berth.   She ran for the kitchen and grabbed her keys off the hook by the door.
    “Going somewhere?”
    She whirled around.  He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen.  The knife wound soaked the bottom of his now-tattered shirt in blood and the shotgun blast soaked the top.  He was swaying, but somehow still upright.  How the hell was that possible? 
    She fixed the shotgun on him, her finger poised over the trigger.  “I’m guessing you’re going to try to stop me.”
    He didn’t answer her.  One minute he was standing in the doorway, and the next he was sprinting impossibly fast across the room.  She leapt backwards, pulling the trigger as she did.  The shotgun pellets caught the man in the neck and face.  He screamed, but kept coming. 
    Flipping the shotgun, she held it like a baseball bat, and swung with all her might.  The crack of the thick stock against his skull echoed through the kitchen.  She just had time to jump out of the way before he crashed at her feet.
    She didn’t wait to see if he’d get back up.  She ran out the back door, grabbing her keys by the door, stumbling down the stairs in her