"So you're the supplier."
"What were you trying to pull off inside Roman's group?"
"Just curious." Paul stopped a meter away and settled into his stance.
Why did I expect an answer?
Anthony took a split step forward and kicked high, boot cutting a clean arc toward Paul's head. Paul jerked back, felt the heel whistle past his face, and caught the ankle before it touched the floor. He pulled.
Anthony stumbled forward on one leg and launched another kick. Paul released the ankle and dropped low, driving his left fist into Anthony's abdomen. Anthony went down.
Paul stepped in and brought his boot down. Anthony rolled, left then right, letting it land empty, then caught Paul's boot mid-swing and shoved it back. Paul staggered. Anthony came pulled back up.
He came forward fast, fist extended. Paul sidestepped and caught the arm, using the momentum to throw him — but Anthony didn't budge. He drove his knee into Paul's gut and wrenched his arm free.
Paul sucked air. He threw a punch. Anthony ducked and came up from underneath, fist connecting below Paul's jaw.
Paul's head snapped back. Anthony caught him by the nape before he could recover and leaned in close.
"Textbook fighting style you have." He hit him again. "Refined. But there are still ways to go."
He drove his fist forward. Paul caught it.
"Is that so?" His eyes didn't move from Anthony's.
He pulled the fist back and started to turn it. For a moment Anthony felt the leverage shifting against him — then he kicked Paul's knee.
Paul dropped. Anthony snapped his hands free, grabbed Paul by the throat with both hands, lifted him, and smashed him into the ground.
"Tell me." Anthony said, staring down at him. "Are you by any chance a puppet of the High Table?"
Paul spat blood and straightened up, taking the stance once more. "First, why don't you tell me who's the man behind you?"
"That's your goal?" Anthony saw two guys running towards them. He side stepped and kicked the first man on the chest. The second man slowed his stride. Anthony grabbed the man's hand and redirected it to his own head, the beer bottle shattered.
"What do you know about Neomar?" Paul said as he was busy with two other guys. They swung the knife in front of him, Paul dodged it cleanly.
"You'll know when you get there." Anthony slit the man's neck with broken glass. He turned around, waiting.
Paul pulled out the knife from the man's head. "You know the name George Washio?"
Anthony dropped the glass. Paul noticed the hesitation, that small twitch. It was all he needed.
"You might know Aldo Frankenstein too I guess?"
Anthony's calm broke. He was updated with a recent incident that happened in Neomar. Geroge and Aldo went missing after the auction.
"What about them?"
"Nothing. Just wondering about the story they shared with me." Paul lifted the knife to his chest. "Ten years ago. Two brothers. And one betrayal. Then everything poof."
"I never came across such stories." Anthony, carefully closed the gap.
Paul gave short faint to the left, then slashed the knife from the right. Anthony blocked it, and punched straight. Paul tilted his head, fist gazing past his hair. He dipped the knife lower, caught it other hand and slashed upward.
Anthony jerked back. The streak of thin blood appeared on his shirt. Paul thrust the knife, but it stopped. Anthony had caught Paul's wrist with both hands. Paul punched with his right hand. Anthony didn't budge. Paul punched again. Anthony's balance tilted.
Paul wrenched his hand free, then cut across Anthony's forearms. Anthony's hand shot out. Paul vanished and appeared below him.
He moved behind Anthony and drove the knife on the back. A low grunt escaped Anthony's mouth. Paul thrust deeper, twisting it hard. Anthony's hands shot behind his back. Paul jerked back.
Anthony pulled out the knife, his white shirt turning deep red. He threw the knife and turned around, his gaze briefly landing on the shattered glass from before.
Paul carefully watched Anthony step closer, knowing that the little wound hadn't done any real damage. Anthony threw his fist forward. Paul ducked— then Anthony's fist turned low, and landed on Paul's ribs, his knee followed quickly after. Paul grunted, his hands moved behind Anthony's waist, he gouged his fingers into the wound.
Anthony gritted his teeth and punched down Paul's head. Paul's visions blurred. Anthony drove his knee into Paul's chin, and pulled Paul up. He punched Paul again and again. Paul lifted his arms to block, then a punch struck his gut, he folded. Anthony kicked high. It struck Paul's temple. Paul dropped.
Anthony breathed out softly and picked up the shattered glass. He sat over Paul, reaching for the neck. Paul's hands shot up. The glass stopped an inch before his neck.
"You know what I hate the most?"
Anthony put his all weight into it, the glass touched Paul's skin. "High table."
Blood began to trickle down. Paul's jaw tightened, he put everything to push back.
Then heavy and uneven footsteps stopped a few meters beside them. A man covered in blood, carrying a crate. He glanced at them, his knees gave up. He dropped on the ground, the crate left his arms.
Its lid opened from the impact, revealing packets of tablets and drugs.
Anthony glanced over, his face twisting. The strength in arms lowered.
A bundle of cylindrical sticks rolled out from the crate. The wires were hanging loose and in the middle was a timer. Then a fire bottle landed beside it, covering the area in flames.
Anthony lunged right.
The explosion happened, covering everything within its radius. The whole night club shook, debris rained down, black smoke curled up. The man close to it was torn to shreds.
Anthony coughed and pushed himself up. His vision swirling as he looked for Paul. Nowhere in sight.
He took out his phone and called. Three rings after a response came.
"Anthony?"
"Neomar... High table—"
Anthony's words cut short. A bullet passed right through his skull.
Roman approached close to the corpse and stared down. The assault rifle in his hand twitched slightly.
"Check if he got anything," he ordered.
Two men crouched down and began searching. One found the smartphone and handed it to Roman.
The call was still ongoing, name saved under the boss. Roman's thumb hovered over the screen, before he cut the call.
"Only his purse." The second man said.
Roman turned to his men. "Kill every fucking man you see in black suits. That son of a bitch Paul Vaxlar, find him at any cost and bring him to me. Dead or alive doesn't matter."
He glanced at the crater from the blast. "Charlie, you go guard the crates. Don't let anyone near it."
Everyone nodded. Charlie took two guys and went towards where crates are, others scattered to finish the men in black.
Roman's gaze swept across the club. On normal nights people danced here, neon lights everywhere, but now? There were only dead bodies. Screams. Gun fire. The place he built for years had turned into a slaughter house.
"I won't let that motherfucker walk away alive. I swear to my dead father, I won't."
He fired the gun on the upper floors. Shooting anyone who was in black clothes.
"How did he play everyone? How did I get fooled?"
Roman fired aimlessly, his shoulders shaking.
"Paul Vaxlar! I know you're still here."
Paul entered the washroom and closed the door shut. He pressed his back against the frame, his hand reached his neck to stop the blood flow.
After a few seconds his breathing steadied. He walked up to the basin, and looked at the mirror. The side of his face was scorched black, burnt so badly the flesh had changed shape. He touched it with his fingers gently.
It hurt.
It was painful.
Maybe some won't even recognize him.
"You have to get out of here. Alive."
Paul nodded. His gaze dropped to examine himself. The left side had caught flames, from his face to legs, his arm was black, the tissues shredding apart, clothes attached to him like glue.
"You have to move before the engine runs out of steam."
He turned to leave. Then he saw a blood pool forming inside a booth. He walked near it and pushed open.
A man covered in blood lying dead. Paul dragged the body out and checked the belongings. Nothing.
He opened the man's shirt and took it out. He tore off the sleeves and wrapped it around his neck. Then split the shirt in half, he wrapped it in his left arm.
He moved his shoulder to check. The pain was there but he can work with it.
Thumping sound from the door. Loud shouts came from outside.
Paul glanced at it, his gaze calm. He took out a small object from his pocket, he picked up a second before Anthony had lunged.
The object was small fist sized. A small red button shielded with glass.
Paul knew what it was. The key for his escape.