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walked up to Cyrus. Without a word, he backhanded Cyrus across the face with the revolver and then quickly reached under Cyrus's jacket and removed the automatic from the holster. |
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Kyna made a grab for the briefcase and Dessotti slapped her across the face hard enough to spin her around. Her knees buckled and as she fell, her head smashed into the edge of the table. |
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In that fraction of a second when Dessotti's gunman was distracted by Kyna's fall, Cyrus moved. He seized Black Shirt's handtwistedand the wrist snapped like a green stick. The gun dropped to the floor and Cyrus kicked the man square in the face. Black Shirt's eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the carpet. |
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The M-16 barked three times. Two of the bullets flew harmlessly through the open door but the last one cut a deep crease in Cyrus's shoulder. He lunged headfirst over the long Southwestern-style sofa, landed on his shoulders and rolled. Halfway through the somersault, his body began to change, and by the time he came to his feet, his clothes were rags and he no long resembled anything human. |
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The gunman took one look at the snarling, wolflike creature, then one look at the M-16 and turned to run. Cyrus grabbed the man's head like he was palming a basketball, twisted, and his neck popped like a dry carrot snapping in two. |
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The first guy was dragging his body across the floor toward the pistol. Cyrus cleared the distance between them in one massive leap and snatched the man up like a G.I. Joe doll. |
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"Please!" Black Shirt cried. "Please. I" |
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Another time Cyrus might have let him gonot this time. He wasn't in a forgiving mood. There was blood on the man's arm and blood on his facethe very air in the penthouse reeked of blood and that destroyed any chance the man might have had. Cyrus tore a massive chunk of flesh from the side of the gunman's neck with his teeth and then raised him high overhead and heaved him through the open balcony door and over the railing. The man was still screaming when he |
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