The Rock by Chris Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

back on its hinges, and in the belly of the room a naked woman jumped out of the bed.Both men had dropped their weapons in the struggle. The Sig and Glock were now five metres away, well out of reach of the combatants. The woman reeled away from the guns in horror, as if they were pythons.
    A bloated, hairy-backed boyfriend took in Gardner, Mr Crowbar, the two guns – and locked himself in the bathroom, leaving his screaming girlfriend raging at the door.
    Mr Crowbar shoved Gardner back, sending him on a collision course with a dinner tray. Glasses, knives and forks clattered.
    For someone so tall, Mr Crowbar had agility to spare. He rushed forward in a stretched blur. Gardner had no time to protect himself.
    Above the woman’s scream, Mr Crowbar’s counterattack was deadly swift. He delivered a groin kick to Gardner’s balls. Fists hard as kettlebells unleashed in an unbroken stream – a chisel punch to the trench of Gardner’s throat, a low blow to his knees. It seemed as if he were fighting an endless riptide.
    But the guy seemed anxious about moving in too close. He encircled Gardner, kicking his knees. Lowered a straightened leg down on to his chest like the blade of an axe. Mr Crowbar’s heel collided with his ribcage.
    Another kick. This time Gardner was ready. He chopped his right hand across the floor, cutting down his opponent’s standing foot. The guy slipped, tripped, fell. Gardner picked himself up and Mr Crowbar was back on his feet too.
    Jesus, he’s not even broken out in a sweat, Gardner realized.
    The guy adopted a defensive stance, protecting his head. That still left the rest of his body exposed, and Gardner wanted to make him pay. He readied himself for a front kick to the guy’s stomach, lifting his knee straight forward. Mr Crowbar blocked the move by forming an ‘X’ across his torso.
    But then he lowered his hands, and played into Gardner’s.
    Gardner went for the jaw. One punch. That’s all the opportunity you’re going to get, he told himself.
    An inch from his face, Mr Crowbar somehow blocked the punch with the inside of his left palm. Gardner was left KO’ing air.
    As the guy fired off a torrent of blows, Gardner felt his body weakening. If you go down again, you won’t be getting up. He’s too strong. You need a weapon.
    The room service tray. Yes, he remembered now. The knives and forks. The tray was a metre behind him. He dropped with the next punch. As Mr Crowbar wound up for a kick, he reached behind him. Grabbed the handle of something, couldn’t see what, and brought the tool forward – and plunged a serrated steak knife into the guy’s knee.
    Don’t let up. Finish the job.
    As pain jarred through the guy’s body, Gardner forced his head down and wrapped his left arm around the neck. He locked tight, crushing his opponent’s head in his armpit. Placing his right hand on his shoulder, Gardner grabbed the guy’s wrist with his left hand. Keeping his legs spaced apart, he leaned forward and forced the guy to topple over, with himself on top. Now he flattened his body out, distributing the weight as evenly as possible to create a suffocating press.
    Mr Crowbar squirmed, pushing on Gardner’s shoulders, but the contortion of his body meant that struggling increased the pressure on his airway. Gardner had him pinned down in a classic figure-four chokehold. A woman’s arse fled the room, her wails carrying down the corridor.
    ‘Tell me your name,’ Gardner said.
    ‘Go fuck yourself.’
    ‘Who are you working for?’
    ‘Your mother’s a whore.’
    ‘Maybe she is, but I wasn’t asking you that.’ Gardner contracted his elbows. The guy gritted his teeth. His air passage dwindled to the thickness of a straw. ‘Talk.’
    ‘Suck your brother’s dick.’
    ‘I don’t have one.’
    ‘This conversation… is over.’
    On the final word, Gardner suddenly felt himself rising. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Despite being fucked up and choked halfway to death, Mr