IX
Miles closed the door. "I gave him something to help him sleep."
Haruna rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Great. He just woke up."
"Why don't we take a walk?"
"I should be close. If he wakes-."
"Trust me. He isn't going anywhere."
Haruna thought for a moment. "What is your name again?"
"Doctor Steven Kevorkian." Miles held his name tag out.
The two walked down the hall and turned a corner.
As Miles and Haruna walked, the latch turned, and Dylan snuck out of his room. He walked down the hall to the elevator, pressed the call button, and waited.
The elevator opened. Dylan stared into the chest of a man who stood inside. His chest extended from one side of the elevator to the other. His muscular body filled a short-sleeved white button-down shirt.
Dylan hung his head and took a deep breath. "Russian?"
The man nodded. "Move." He reached into his pants pocket.
"You got a knife?"
The man smiled and nodded. Dylan scratched his nose and smirked.
"I was hoping I would get to my guns before running into any of you."
The man cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
Dylan jumped forward, firing a forearm into the man's thick neck. The man hit the back of the elevator, Dylan's forearm still in his throat. Dylan kicked the third-floor button on the elevator's control panel. The elevator doors closed. Dylan pounded the back of his arm, forcing it farther into the Russian's neck until he heard a soft snap. The large man's eyes closed as the elevator stopped. Dylan released his hold, and the massive man fell to the floor.
Dylan stood and faced the door. The doors opened, and four men glared at him, two older men in front and two younger kids behind them. They glanced at the body behind him. The ones in front stuck Dylan as the main threat. They reached into their waistbands and pulled black Glock nine millimeters.
The first row of men wore cotton tank tops, one black and the other white. One in the back struggled to hold his gun up. Dylan placed his age at no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. The last held his gun sideways and tried to point it at Dylan's head.
"Guys, we don't have to do this."
Dylan walked out of the elevator with both hands held up.
They cocked the slides back on the pistols.
"Pity."
Dylan grabbed the younger men and pulled both of them forward. The two in the back lurched forward, knocking into the other two. Their bodies turned, and everyone's gun went off. The bullets tore through the air and into the walls or floor.
Dylan took a step forward. He fired the palm of his hand into the younger men's throat. They fell to their knees, coughing, guns falling from their hands.
The man in the black tank top recovered first. He rotated, attempting to aim at Dylan. The mercenary grabbed the gun and released the magazine. He stripped the gun from the man's hand and struck him in the nose. The young man collapsed. His hand flew to his nose, blood spurting through his fingers.
The one in the white tank stood and turned to his yelling comrade. He raised his gun. Dylan caught his wrist and drove his body into the boy's elbow. The bone snapped, and a yell bellowed. Dylan swept his legs out from under him.
The older of the two younger kids stood, trembling. His gun is sat near Dylan's boot. He yelled, ran forward, and threw a punch. Dylan stepped to the side. The kid's fist went through the drywall. Dylan shook his head. He grabbed the young man by the back of the head and drove him into the wall. The boy sagged, his head stuck in the wall.
The youngest boy picked up his gun. The gun in his hands shook, and the barrel pointed at Dylan. Dylan stepped toward the kid. His palms faced him. He grabbed the pistol and tore it out of the boy's hand.
He looked the boy in the eyes. Dylan's cold stare melted away into one of sorrow. He threw the Glock away.
"For some people taking life is as easy as breathing. You're not one of them. Quit this life before you do something you regret."
Dylan moved away from the kids. He got to the locker room and stepped inside.
