Read Online Nine Dragons - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories Book 2) by Mark Dawson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Dawson
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picked up and, despite knowing that it was impossible, she had the impression that the building was bending and swaying. She dropped down so that her legs were over the parapet. She turned back to Grace and, finally sensing that she really didn’t have a choice, the girl hurried over and looped her arms around Beatrix’s neck again. Beatrix reached down and took Grace’s legs, positioning them around her waist and pressing them tight.
The girl felt snug on her back.
It wouldn’t be just like before, of course. The ascent had been more natural. Grace had been able to bear her weight with her arms and anchor herself with her legs. This time, she would be upside down. It would be harder for both of them.
Beatrix hoped that she would be strong enough.
She bent down and lowered herself to the wire and the cable. “Ready?” She gripped them with both hands, locked her ankles around them and let gravity swing her around so that she was hanging upside down. She felt Grace’s body go taut with terror, her grip constricting around her throat and waist. She started to pull herself away from the parapet. The wire was looser than it appeared, and it bowed down and then started to sway from side to side as she continued farther out.
They were halfway when she heard the boom of the shotgun from behind her.
The door to the roof.
The Glock was in her waistband.
She paused, looping the crook of her left elbow around the wire and reaching back between her body and Grace’s body until she felt the butt of the pistol. She took it as she saw the men emerge from the housing. There was no easy way to aim, so she reached out and pointed with the pistol, loosing off two quick rounds in the vague direction of the triads. The pistol kicked and the bullets winged away. Two misses, but the men ducked beneath the parapet. Something for them to think about, such as it was.
Three rounds left.
She held the gun to her side, pointing away from Grace, and told the girl to take it.
She grasped the wire with both hands and started to pull again.
A pistol barked out and a round whizzed overhead, missing by a few feet.
Almost there.
Another shot, and then the boom of the shotgun.
Almost there.
A patch of wall blew up in front of her.
Something hot and sharp scraped across her arm.
Fragments of dry brickwork spattered over them.
Beatrix pulled harder, slithering across the wire.
The building on the opposite side of the gap was within touching distance. She craned her neck around and looked; there was a window two feet below them. “Hang on,” she said. She rearranged her grip, uncrossed her legs and let the momentum of the sudden swing carry her feet first to the glass. She kicked out, shattering the panes, and hooked her foot against the top of the aperture. “Get inside,” she muttered. The effort of holding her body steady tore at her biceps and the muscles of her shoulders. Grace did as she was told. She slithered down Beatrix’s body until she was able to rest her weight on the sill and then dropped into the room beyond.
The shotgun boomed again.
Beatrix reached ahead on the wire and yanked herself closer to the wall. She let go. Her feet dropped down onto the sill, slipped off, and, for a moment, she thought she was going to fall. The window rushed by her face before she reached out and grasped the frame with both hands. Her legs slammed into the wall beneath the window. There were fragments of glass caught in the putty and they sliced into her fingers and palms. The blast of pain forced her to let go with her left hand. The pain screeched down her right arm, too. Her grip was loosening until Grace appeared above her and reached down with both hands, grabbing Beatrix’s wrist and anchoring her.
She grabbed the sill with her left hand, scrabbled the toes of her boots against the disintegrating wall, clambered up and fell inside the room.
She assessed: it was a bedroom, a futon on the floor, a bookcase. The room was
The girl felt snug on her back.
It wouldn’t be just like before, of course. The ascent had been more natural. Grace had been able to bear her weight with her arms and anchor herself with her legs. This time, she would be upside down. It would be harder for both of them.
Beatrix hoped that she would be strong enough.
She bent down and lowered herself to the wire and the cable. “Ready?” She gripped them with both hands, locked her ankles around them and let gravity swing her around so that she was hanging upside down. She felt Grace’s body go taut with terror, her grip constricting around her throat and waist. She started to pull herself away from the parapet. The wire was looser than it appeared, and it bowed down and then started to sway from side to side as she continued farther out.
They were halfway when she heard the boom of the shotgun from behind her.
The door to the roof.
The Glock was in her waistband.
She paused, looping the crook of her left elbow around the wire and reaching back between her body and Grace’s body until she felt the butt of the pistol. She took it as she saw the men emerge from the housing. There was no easy way to aim, so she reached out and pointed with the pistol, loosing off two quick rounds in the vague direction of the triads. The pistol kicked and the bullets winged away. Two misses, but the men ducked beneath the parapet. Something for them to think about, such as it was.
Three rounds left.
She held the gun to her side, pointing away from Grace, and told the girl to take it.
She grasped the wire with both hands and started to pull again.
A pistol barked out and a round whizzed overhead, missing by a few feet.
Almost there.
Another shot, and then the boom of the shotgun.
Almost there.
A patch of wall blew up in front of her.
Something hot and sharp scraped across her arm.
Fragments of dry brickwork spattered over them.
Beatrix pulled harder, slithering across the wire.
The building on the opposite side of the gap was within touching distance. She craned her neck around and looked; there was a window two feet below them. “Hang on,” she said. She rearranged her grip, uncrossed her legs and let the momentum of the sudden swing carry her feet first to the glass. She kicked out, shattering the panes, and hooked her foot against the top of the aperture. “Get inside,” she muttered. The effort of holding her body steady tore at her biceps and the muscles of her shoulders. Grace did as she was told. She slithered down Beatrix’s body until she was able to rest her weight on the sill and then dropped into the room beyond.
The shotgun boomed again.
Beatrix reached ahead on the wire and yanked herself closer to the wall. She let go. Her feet dropped down onto the sill, slipped off, and, for a moment, she thought she was going to fall. The window rushed by her face before she reached out and grasped the frame with both hands. Her legs slammed into the wall beneath the window. There were fragments of glass caught in the putty and they sliced into her fingers and palms. The blast of pain forced her to let go with her left hand. The pain screeched down her right arm, too. Her grip was loosening until Grace appeared above her and reached down with both hands, grabbing Beatrix’s wrist and anchoring her.
She grabbed the sill with her left hand, scrabbled the toes of her boots against the disintegrating wall, clambered up and fell inside the room.
She assessed: it was a bedroom, a futon on the floor, a bookcase. The room was
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