Not only had Sketch's left leg been fractured, but the barrel of a gun was stuffed into his open mouth. Even if he wanted to beg for mercy, he could not speak.
His subordinates, who had been planning to smoke leisurely while enjoying the show, finally snapped out of their shock. All of them immediately jumped into action.
“How dare you retaliate!”
“How dare you wield that gun!” “This bastard hurt our boss! Kill him! The men quickly raised their AKs and took aim at Nathan, preparing to release fire.
At that moment, Ava moved, as suddenly and silently as a ghost in the night.
Like a butterfly flitting through a garden, she darted amongst the men with a sharp dagger in each hand. The daggers flashed dangerously, never stopping even for a moment.
Screams of terror sounded as blood arced through the air.
One after another, disembodied arms and the guns they were holding fell to the ground as Ava danced among the men.
The men fell to their knees in a pool of their own blood, clutching at where their missing arm had been and wailing in pain.
Sketch watched the scene unfold from his peripheral vision. His eyes widened in horror.
Nathan's move earlier had shocked him. He could never have guessed that his female assistant would be just as terrifying.
With just two daggers, she had sliced off the right arms of his dozen or so subordinates in a matter of seconds, as if they were nothing.
Clap, clap, clap.
A slow applause sounded.
Nathan and Ava turned to look in the direction of the sound. A middle-aged man about one point-eight meter tall with a body built like a tank was walking toward them while clapping loudly.
The man was wearing green camouflage pants, combat boots, and a black jacket with nothing underneath.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Salute To The General (Nathan Cross)