Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Read Free Page A

of familiarity as he dealt with locating any injuries. His movements were swift and sure, drawing on knowledge that he hadn’t known he possessed. The man bled from a shoulder wound. An exam confirmed that the bullet had been a deep graze. It bled freely, but it was noncritical.
    “M-my fault,” he said. His words were slurred. Shock was setting in.
    “Quiet,” Renzo said, ripping off the man’s rolled-up sleeve.
    “They followed m—” He grimaced as Renzo wadded up the sleeve and pressed it against the wound.
    “Keep pressure on this,” Renzo said. The kid gripped the bandage with his good hand. Bleeding slowed to a trickle. Renzo unhooked the chin strap and removed the man’s helmet. He was in his twenties, with scruffy dark hair, pale skin, and a number of tiny holes on his brow and ears—evidence of previous piercings. Renzo gasped when he recognized him. Memories dropped into place: an underground bunker, assassins, death, an alien pyramid…
    “Timmy?” Renzo asked.
    The kid’s eyes widened. “You recognize me!”
    Renzo retrieved the mini. It felt warm in his grasp. Images clarified. “Yeah,” Renzo said, pushing through the cobwebs. “Area 52. There was you, and Doc, and—”
    “Right on! Six years ago…” Timmy said. He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re speaking English!”
    Renzo shook his head.
Six years?
It couldn’t be. He tried to superimpose a timeline onto the jumble of memories, searching for the code that would unlock the encryption in his brain. But before the last tumbler clicked into place, the kid’s gaze snapped to a point beyond Renzo’s shoulder. His eyes widened.
    The leader tackled Renzo from behind. The air was blown from his lungs, and the mini flew from his grasp. It skittered into a drainage culvert.
    So did his past.
    They rolled past Timmy. The German assassin ended up on top. He straddled Renzo, fists pummeling. Blood from the man’s broken nose drooled onto Renzo’s face. He defended the first three blows, but the fourth hammered into his jaw. The fifth impacted his temple, stunning him. Thick hands wrapped around his throat. Fingers dug. Renzo arched his back and flailed at the bigger man. But the vise grip around his neck tightened. Renzo clawed and came away with a torn shirtsleeve, exposing rippling muscles and a stylized tattoo of the phrase
Cæli Regere
. Renzo’s throat burned and his vision blurred. He reached desperately for the man’s face, groping for eyes. But the experienced fighter twisted from his reach. He continued to squeeze.
    A shadow passed behind the German. There was a hollow thunk as something cracked against his skull. The man groaned; his eyes lost focus, his grip released, and he toppled to one side. He lay still. Renzo sucked air through his tortured windpipe, wriggling from beneath the man’s bulk.
    Timmy stood above him, wobbling back and forth like a drunk. The motorcycle helmet dangled from the chin strap he gripped in his good hand. He’d used it as a mace. Suddenly, the kid’s eyes rolled and the color drained from his face. He had a dull grin as he collapsed into Renzo’s arms.
    “Bravo,” Renzo rasped, lowering him to the ground. The sirens were a few blocks away. The kid was woozy, but still conscious. Renzo would stay with him until help arrived. He owed his life to…
    He’d forgotten the kid’s name. He’d known it just a moment ago. “
Come ti chiami?
” Renzo asked.
    The kid’s eyes narrowed. “In English?”
    Renzo shook his head. “
Non parlo inglese
,” he said. He’d never had a knack for languages.
    “But you were just speaking Eng-wisssh!” the kid slurred.
    There was a blare of horns. Renzo turned from the meaningless words. Cars were backed up at a traffic light. Another black BMW jerked and twisted as it attempted to nose past the cars ahead of it. Angry fists and more horns, and Renzo realized that the rest of the hit squad had found him. The sirens coming