Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

Jenna didn’t think he would be fooled into such a reckless advance a second time. She backed away, glancing around for a weapon. She didn’t know where the gun had gone but the tire iron lay just a couple steps away. As she reached for it, Raul scrambled back to his feet and charged again.

A math problem flashed through her head: R is moving toward J at 15 m.p.h. J is trying to reach a tire iron 5 feet away. Will J reach the tire iron before R kills her?

It was a chance she couldn’t take, and at the last instant, she veered off. Raul had indeed learned his lesson, and he pulled up short, facing her, taunting her with curses and threats, reverting to some kind of primal threat display. “Me cago en la madre que te parió! Think you’re tough, chica?” He motioned to his body. “Think you can take this?” He spat at her. “You’re nothing but a puta. A scared little puta.”

She ignored his empty words and paid attention to what his eyes were saying. He took a step toward her, and she matched him, backing up as she settled into a ready stance. He took another step, and then his eyes darted to the side. She knew what would come next. When he lunged, she shouted a kiai and aimed her fist at an imaginary spot six inches behind his chin.

The punch connected solidly. Raul’s jaw broke with an audible crack. Yet, even as his head snapped back, his flailing hands caught her T-shirt. When he staggered away, she was pulled off balance.

Then his arms were around her, pinning her own arms against her body, crushing her in a bear hug. For a moment, they were locked in a crazy dance, Jenna trying to squirm free and stay on her feet, Raul simply trying to stop her from doing either. Then, they crashed down to the concrete floor.

The collision sent a flare of pain through Jenna’s body, but she ignored it and focused on the much more immediate peril. Her sensei had taught her some grappling, just enough to know that strength and size were not always the deciding factor in a wrestling match. But if Raul squeezed the breath out of her, she would not be able to put up much of a fight. She twisted, squirming to get her hands free of his embrace. He doubled his efforts, squeezing tighter.

In a flash of inspiration, she drove her forehead into Raul’s chin. There was a bright flash in her field of vision, but the sound of grinding bones filled her head. The broken pieces of Raul’s lower jaw smashed together, followed by a howl of pain. His hold loosened, just enough. She ripped her arms free of his grasp and wrapped them around his skull.

She felt him pounding his fists against her back. The blows were painful but not precise enough to do any real damage. She answered his fury with her own, wrenching her body back and forth, as if trying to rip his head off. In a way, that was exactly what she was trying to do. She remembered how Noah had broken Ken’s neck. Could she do that?

After just a few moments, she knew that she couldn’t. Maybe there was some special technique, but what she was doing wasn’t it. She felt Raul moving beneath her, rolling over and struggling to rise. If he succeeded, she would have almost no leverage against him. He was too strong, and she was too light. She squeezed and shook him again, but to no avail. She just wasn’t strong enough…

Maybe my arms aren’t strong enough, but I’ve got other muscles.

The same intuitive guidance that had prompted her to head butt him now gave her a different set of instructions. She dropped her grip onto his shoulders and then pushed down, launching herself straight up like a child playing leapfrog. The move got her high enough to swing one leg over Raul’s shoulder, and a moment later, she had his neck caught in a scissors hold between her thighs. With a shout that was like the mother of all kiais, she twisted her entire body—and Raul’s head with it—completely around.

The sound of snapping vertebrae vibrated through her body. When his body went rag-doll slack beneath her, she knew it was over.

The fight ended somewhat anticlimactically, with Raul collapsing beneath her, his death throes slamming her onto the hard floor. She disentangled herself quickly, scrambling away from him like he was on fire.

She lay there for a moment, panting. The fight had taxed her, but her breathlessness owed more to a sense of victory. She had won.

Her moment of triumph ended when she felt a hand close over her arm. She jerked in surprise and found herself staring into the bloody visage of Carlos Villegas.

Impossible. It was an eighty foot fall. He couldn’t have survived.

She jerked free. He made no effort to hold on to her, and as she crabbed backward, she saw why.

He had somehow survived and crawled back up out of the silo. But survival was a relative term. The fall had broken him, literally. Although she had recognized him, his face was misshapen, stretched over a skull that was no longer in one piece. Blood streamed from his ears and eyes. His limbs were also deformed. The hand that had grasped her appeared to be the only one of his extremities still functioning. She still could not fathom how he had pulled himself back up, but he had no strength left with which to menace her.