THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! by J.T. Brannan Read Free Book Online Page B

the draw. At the same time, my head bucked forward, smashing my heavy brow line into the weaker bones of his face.
    I cracked the first man across the neck with the baton in a backhanded slice, dropping him heavily to the ground, then whipped a knee up into the other guy’s balls.
    He gasped and sagged, and I span him round and rammed his head down onto the edge of the desk, finishing him off.
    The altercation had only lasted a few seconds, and Groban was struggling to deal with the shock, eyes wide in panic.
    I knew that Hatfield would be quicker to recover though, and didn’t stop moving; and instead of turning to face him, I threw myself into a roll across the desk top, pulling out my Benchmade knife as I went.
    My feet hit the ground on the other side and – dropping the baton – I turned, my arm wrapping itself around Groban’s neck and pulling him from his chair, the knife’s three-inch blade pressed hard to the man’s jugular.
    I finally looked across the room and saw that Hatfield was on his feet, the unnerving, icy smile back on his face, a small H&K USP Compact in his hands. The man was good – I’d not spotted the gun on him earlier, which meant he was practiced in concealment. Fast, too.
    But now we had ourselves a stalemate.
    I was careful to angle Groban’s body in front of me to minimize Hatfield’s options; if he took a shot, there was a good chance that Groban would get it before I did.
    Hatfield still didn’t speak, just kept aiming the USP at me as he stared with those icy blue eyes.
    I had a feeling that he might just shoot, and damn the consequences.
    And then the office door opened and I tensed, expecting a horde of Vanguard troops with automatic weapons to burst into the room.
    But instead there was only the lone figure of a man, silhouetted in the doorway.
    ‘Stand down, Miles,’ the man said in a voice that resonated power, and Hatfield reluctantly lowered the gun at his command.
    The man came further into the room, and smiled; and unlike Hatfield’s, this one seemed genuine.
    ‘How about we have a talk?’ General Roman Badrock said to me, as he looked at the carnage around him. ‘I’m always on the lookout for a good man.’

Chapter Five
     
     
    I sipped at a glass of port as I sat at one end of a long, heavy satinwood dining table, a plate of seared duck breast with all the trimmings in front of me.
    All told, it was much better than being shot by a lunatic with a USP.
    General Badrock and I were alone in the dining room, a sumptuous wood-paneled affair in the man’s own ranch house, complete with chandeliers, expensive artworks, and luxurious rugs spread across its oak floorboards. Animal heads graced the walls around us too, everything from roe deer to grizzly bear.
    ‘Your own work?’ I asked, pointing to the mounted heads with my silver fork.
    Badrock smiled through a mouth full of duck. ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘Hunting’s one of the great pleasures of my life. I love the feeling, the cold steel in my hands as I lie in wait, the stillness of the moment, the clarity of the mind.’ He took a sip of port, savoring it. ‘It’s like nothing else.’
    ‘That’s surprising for a man with your career,’ I said.
    Badrock laughed. ‘I’m an old man now, son. You know how long ago I last saw action in the field? It was as a major, back during the first Gulf war, over a quarter of a century ago now.’ He shook his head. ‘You get bumped up to colonel, to general, you know how many firefights you get into?’ Another sip of the port, another shake of the head. ‘None whatsoever.’
    ‘You missed it then?’ I asked, still not entirely sure why Badrock had brought me here but wanting to build up some sort of rapport with him so that he’d be less likely to call the police or – worse – have Hatfield come back and shoot me.
    ‘I started hunting when I got to staff rank and it became apparent that I was no longer required in the field,’