He stood slowly and walked to the door with Pascal. A flicker of light from the stairway grabbed his attention. “I hope we’re meeting Luc in a less heated section of the house.”
As Pascal’s eyes shot a concerned glare toward the flames, Simon swung his arm and knocked the gun from the son of a bitch’s hands. Punching with his left hand, he nailed Pascal in the stomach. The impact pushed him into the wall, but the bastard shot forward again, lifting Simon off the ground and slamming him across the hallway.
Simon’s knee to Pascal’s groin forced the sod to drop his hold. They both stepped back to breathe. After a deep intake of air, Pascal charged him again and tried to throw Simon off balance, but his weight and height equaled Pascal’s. He had Pascal on the ground without too much exertion, but Pascal kicked out his leg, shoving Simon across the landing. His head hit the railing, but he managed to right himself and pull a five-inch blade out from near his calf.
Tucking it in his palm, he closed in on Pascal. He feigned right and then plunged the knife deep into his enemy’s chest. Pascal faded to the floor.
Simon kicked Pascal’s face once more before pulling out the knife. “I hope you rot in hell.”
Turning to retrieve Nicola’s body, Simon froze at the roadblock before him. The fire had spread through the venting system into Nicola’s room. The curtains ignited and dropped embers across the floor. He stood helpless as Nicola’s dress caught fire and within seconds, she disappeared behind a wall flames.
…
The stairs seemed to descend forever. Ash and smoke flowed around Henry, hindering his view of the solid marble floor in the main foyer. With Alex wrapped up and passed out in his arms, he ran toward the front door, but Luc stepped from the main parlor, blocking their escape. He waved his gun toward them, wearing a smirk that needed to be beaten off his face. There may have been enough time to reload, but something in Luc’s bravado told Henry he was bluffing.
Luc stepped toward them. “I’m afraid you can’t help Mrs. Perrault. As the story goes, she dies in the fire and her husband, who tried to save her, didn’t make it to her in time. With the money from her trust fund and the insurance I recently purchased on her life, I’ll carry on despite a broken heart.”
“You seem to be mixing up a tragedy for a comedy. You’re the pathetic loser who dies in a fire you set yourself, leaving Alex, the happy widow, to dance on your grave.”
“A funny man.” Luc pointed the gun at Henry. “Take her to the other room.”
Henry couldn’t reach his own gun. “I prefer to take her out the door.”
“I can shoot you now and drag your bloody corpse into the gallery.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead, ace, shoot me.”
The gun clicked. Luc threw it at his head. Henry ducked and rested Alex next to the front door as Luc charged him.
Luc tried a right jab, but Henry caught his fist in his left hand and returned a right elbow into his face.
Blood sprayed from Luc’s nose, but didn’t slow his attack. He kicked up at Henry and hit him in the gut. The thickness of the vest softened the blow. Henry pushed forward. The venom racing through his veins powered his left hand into a crunching punch at Luc’s chest. The strike was hard enough to break a rib.
“That’s for Alex’s broken rib.”
Henry’s long arm span proved advantageous against the short-limbed Luc, allowing his left fist to connect with Luc’s face. More blood splattered from his nose. They continued swinging at each other. Henry propelled Luc into the gallery and away from Alex.
Luc tried to fight back, but Henry was stronger. He rammed his foot into Luc’s knee until it popped. Luc fell to the floor with a bellow.
“That’s for Alex’s leg.”
Henry leaned against the wall, chest heaving and lungs aching from the smoke. Staring at him from no more than twenty feet away, Lady Elizabeth graced the smoldering walls. Son of a bitch. Smoke filled the space as the fire rushed through the adjacent rooms. Getting Alex to safety was his main priority, not getting revenge or even the painting. He turned to leave Luc to die in the fire.
Stupid move. Luc grabbed a statue and flung it toward Henry’s head. He ducked, but a corner of it nicked his temple. The pain pushed him off balance and into the wall next to an iron trident hung on loose pegs. Limping, Luc loomed closer, throwing anything within his reach. Eyes wild with anger, Luc lifted a large marble bust over his head. Henry executed a roundhouse kick to Luc’s face, swiping at his arms in the process. The bust fell to the floor, but Luc remained upright on the broken leg and ten gallons of adrenaline.
Henry reached for the trident and spun the staff toward Luc. “Hurry up. I have a widow to console.”
Luc rushed him, but Henry sidestepped the assault, spun around, and speared him through the side of his neck. When he pulled the spear back, Luc fell to the floor, dead.
Henry stumbled through the gallery toward the front door. He didn’t want to be a hero. He wanted a brandy, a good book, and a woman named Alex.
Simon, looking beat-up himself, strode into the gallery, holding her. “We need to leave now.”
Henry glanced back at the portrait on the verge of being swallowed up in the fire and nodded.
Staring at the blood pooling from the back of Henry’s hand, Simon furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
“I will be when Alex gets to the hospital.” Henry followed his brother to the door, watching several strands of Alex’s hair that had fallen out of the blanket sway with each of Simon’s steps. “Where’s your contact?”
With a stone-cold face, Simon signaled with a nod toward the upstairs. “Dead. Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-One