Götterdämmerung Read Free

cursed under his breath as one of the goons spotted him at last.
    In seconds, numerous weapons covered him. If they’d chosen to open fire at that point, he probably would have been a dead man.
    Luckily for him, Nimrod stepped forward and said, “How about I earn my keep right now and kill him right in front of you?”
    The Peregrine took that as his cue to go into action. He pushed off from the rafters and performed the kind of acrobatic flip that would have wowed an Olympic judge. He landed in a crouch and then stood up, unable to hide the smile on his face. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes, even in the face of death, he found himself enjoying his work.
    “You know,” he said, projecting as much bravado as possible, “if you’re going to play with masked vigilantes and use a dramatic name like Nimrod, you need to raise your game a bit. Wear a mask yourself or at least put on a bit of makeup. Otherwise, you’re just playing at it.”
    Nimrod chuckled. He reached down and unbuckled his guns, tossing them onto the table where Declare and Vinnie had been seated a moment before. “I don’t think I’m going to need these. I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”
    The Peregrine noted that mafia goons were circling them but still keeping their distance. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get out of this situation and he felt like a fool for not having shared the information about the meeting with his friend Will McKenzie. The town’s top law enforcement official could have swooped in right now with a bunch of cops and The Peregrine would have been quite grateful.
    Nimrod didn’t wait for The Peregrine to respond verbally. He struck first, delivering a backhanded blow to the side of Max’s head. It left Max’s ears ringing but was intended more to insult than truly harm.
    The Peregrine was quite comfortable with hand-to-hand combat, however. He had been trained by no less than the famed Warlike Manchu, after all, and was considered one of the ten best fighters in over a dozen different techniques.
    A flurry of quick punches and kicks came from The Peregrine but to his surprise, Nimrod blocked them all. In fact, the man seemed to be perfectly mimicking every style that Max knew.
    Grinning, Nimrod whispered, “I’ve been watching you for weeks now. Saw you take down Declare’s boys last weekend and before that, I witnessed you against those things that climbed out of the lake. You’re a talented fella and I like that.”
    The Peregrine remembered both of those fights. The things from the lake had been young Deep Ones, horrible amphibious monsters that had come to Atlanta looking for easy prey. “Who trained you?” he asked, narrowly avoiding a punch to his throat.
    “You might as well have,” Nimrod responded. “Once I see a move, I can copy it like I’ve always known it. Makes me the perfect hunter, don’t you think?”
    The Peregrine grunted as Nimrod spun about and caught him with a kick to the midsection. It was a kick that The Peregrine had used against a Deep One, finishing him off.
    Max hit the floor but rolled over and sprang up in an instant. The mood in the room had shifted now as the criminals sensed that they were about to see their hated enemy get his comeuppance.
    The Peregrine wasn’t sure that they were wrong.
    Nimrod continued to press his sudden advantage, not giving The Peregrine a moment to catch his breath. The villain unleashed an obscure martial arts move that The Peregrine had learned in Vietnam, driving the flat of his foot hard into the hero’s chin and then spinning about to connect with an open-palm slap to The Peregrine’s forehead. The combination left Max reeling and he was unprepared for the follow-up: a good, old-fashioned punch to the nose.
    Blood flowed freely down The Peregrine’s face and he tumbled to his knees, pain momentarily blotting out all rational thought. It was just then that the worst possible thing happened—a stabbing knife of agony sliced