The grinder burst to life, deafening in the silence. The two men jumped, swearing, and in the darkness, Bruce saw the outline of their guns as they whirled to look at the sink. Only Alfred looked the other way—toward the other side of the island, where Bruce crouched.
Before the two men could turn back around, Bruce wrenched Alfred out of their grasps. One man turned and Bruce’s fist connected with his jaw, then with his stomach. The man hunched over with a wheezing gasp. Alfred kicked out, catching the second man off balance. Bruce wasted no time. In the blink of an eye, he brought his fist up and hit him squarely in the chin. Throwing himself at the second man, Bruce knocked him to the ground.
“Duck!” he shouted, and Alfred dropped to the floor.
“You little f—” the second man growled. His hand shot out, and his gun glinted in the darkness.
Bruce’s eyes darted toward the dining room. “Detective!” he called out.
The second man instinctively glanced over his shoulder and mistook the white sheet that Bruce had draped against the back of a chair as Draccon’s long tan coat. He startled, swinging his body and gun toward what he thought was the detective.
It was all the distraction Bruce needed. He aimed a punch straight at the man’s neck. Sparring lessons from his coach flew through his mind.
Before he could land a second hit, though, a rough hand yanked Bruce backward. The first Nightwalker had staggered back to his feet and thrown his arm around Bruce’s neck. The blow to his jaw had unsteadied him enough to make him sway on his feet, but he was heavy, far heavier than Bruce. Bruce twisted in vain, trying to reach his attacker, but his angle was wrong, and the man only held on tighter. Bruce choked as air lodged in his throat, blocked. He stumbled.
“Boss gonna be happy to see you, rich boy,” the second man spat.
Someone barreled into Bruce’s captor. It was Alfred—he kicked the man hard in the side, right in the liver, and the man keeled over with a yell of agony. Bruce dragged in a breath, hit the man squarely in the jaw, and watched him go limp.
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce spun around to see a tall figure standing in the kitchen entrance. A pair of goggles shone silver in the night. Metal glinted on his arms and legs, like armor, and his face was concealed behind a mask, leaving only his mouth exposed. He broke into a grin that sent a chill down Bruce’s spine.
The leader of the Nightwalkers.
“Well, well,” he said. “All grown up and newly rich.” He pointed a gun at Bruce.
The words echoed in Bruce’s mind. Something seemed familiar about him, as if Bruce had once met him in another life. But he had no time to dwell on this now.
The man took aim. Bruce dropped. The bullet shattered the kitchen window behind him into a million pieces. An alarm screamed.
Bruce popped back up, yanked one of the knives off the metal bar, and flung it straight at the man.
The boss had underestimated Bruce. He made a small noise of surprise, twisting to one side, his hand flying up to his face. Got him, Bruce thought. He grabbed Alfred’s arm and tried to drag Alfred out of the room—out of the gunfire.
Sirens blared from outside. Everyone froze. The flashing of red and blue lights could be seen through some of the windows. Draccon’s security detail had finally arrived.
The boss glanced back at Bruce. Then he made up his mind—he barked out an order to his two Nightwalkers and threw something to the floor. It exploded, making the ground tremble, and a wave of black smoke rolled across them all, engulfing the room and plunging them in complete darkness. Bruce hunched over, coughing.
The boss called out a final farewell to Bruce. “See you soon.”
A huge crash came from the garage where Draccon was trapped. Bruce tried to reach the other men—but they had already fled into the haze of smoke. As Draccon and the police came rushing into the house, the Nightwalkers vanished as quickly as they had come.
The next few hours passed in a blur. Bruce remembered it as a nonstop stream of time in an ambulance, at the hospital, in the waiting room…doctors and nurses and police officers, all mixed together until he could scarcely tell where one ended and another began. His hand was bandaged, his knuckles bloodied from the fight, one palm cut by a knife without his having noticed, but otherwise, he’d escaped remarkably unscathed. Physically, at least. His hands were still trembling, and even though he sat in what seemed like a safe place, he half expected a Nightwalker to come lunging around every corner.
The important thing was that Alfred was alive. He’d suffered a concussion from the blow to his head—but he was going to be okay.
“Bruce!”
Bruce looked up from holding his head in his hands to see Dianne and Harvey hurrying over to him in the hospital’s waiting room. When they reached him, Dianne flung her arms around Bruce and gave him a tight hug, while Harvey put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes dark with worry.
“We came as soon as we heard,” he said. “God, Bruce.” He let out a long breath. “How are you?”
Bruce shrugged as they sat down beside him. “Okay enough,” he replied, glancing down the hall toward Alfred’s room.
“And Alfred?” Dianne asked, following Bruce’s line of sight.
“He’s still resting,” he replied, swallowing the guilt that kept rising in him. “I’m waiting for them to let me see him.”
Harvey leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “Sorry,” he said, patting Bruce again on his shoulder. “They’re going to catch them. I’m willing to bet on it. They won’t get away with this. Watch—by nightfall, the boss will be on the news, behind bars.”
Dianne shook her head. “Did you really fend off three Nightwalkers on your own, and keep them from hurting Alfred?”
“It all happened so fast,” Bruce replied. Even if it was true, he didn’t feel much like a hero. “The Nightwalkers have a hit list, apparently, and I’m on it.”
“What?” Dianne and Harvey replied in unison.
“Bruce.”
The conversation paused as they all looked up to see Lucius hurrying into the waiting room. He clasped Bruce’s hand in a firm shake and pulled him up for a quick hug. “You’re safe, thank everything above. And Alfred?”
“Is going to make a full recovery,” Bruce replied.
Lucius shook his head at Bruce in awe. “Heard you were quite a force against the Nightwalkers,” he said, “but it’d be nice if we could keep you out of any more dangerous situations in the near future. You don’t have to attend the gala tonight—you don’t have to do anything. Just rest. Trust me, no one will be shocked if you decide it’s safer to stay away. Your life was—”
“I’ll be fine, Lucius, thank you.” Bruce gave him a firm nod. “I’ll be as safe at the gala as I will be anywhere else, and it’ll be a good distraction. Our drones will all be there, won’t they?”
Lucius managed a smile. “Yes, they will,” he replied.
A doctor approached and interrupted their conversation. “Mr. Pennyworth is awake now,” she said. “His vital signs are all good, and you can take him home tonight.”
All other thoughts flew from Bruce’s mind. He jumped to his feet. “Can I see him now?”