And that's when I struck.
My first knife punched into the giant's back, scraping his thick ribs, before I thrust the blade up and into his heart. Sticky, black blood coated my hand like I'd just squeezed a ketchup bottle with all my might. Phil jerked and arched back at the sudden, wrenching pain, opening his mouth to bellow out his anguish. But before he could do that, I drove my foot into the back of his knee as hard as I could. The giant lost his grip on his buddy, who stumbled forward and slammed headfirst into a tree trunk. The already injured Henry let out another low groan of pain and misery.
But I focused my attention on Phil, who'd done his own header into a pile of leaves. He thrashed around, trying to get to his feet even as his body started to shut down from the massive injury that it had just received. By this point, Phil was screaming, but the leaves under his face muffled the sharp sound. Since I wanted to keep it that way, I straddled the fallen giant and put my knees on his back, pinning him on the cold, mossy ground. I dug one hand into his hair, pulling back his head. Phil gulped in a grateful breath, getting ready to scream again.
Too little, too late.
With my other hand, I sliced my silverstone knife across his exposed throat, slashing open his thick neck. Phil moaned and gurgled. With one hand, he flailed back, trying to dislodge me. His other hand went to his throat, trying to stem the steady pump of blood. I paused a second, listening. But Phil's cries didn't appear to have been loud enough to attract immediate attention.
So I climbed off the dying giant's back and went over to Henry, his fallen comrade, who wasn't in much better shape. The giant writhed back and forth, softly moaning in pain. I kicked him over so that he lay on his back, dropped to one knee, and slit his throat, putting him out of his misery. He didn't even try to fight back.
In less than a minute, it was over. Gin 2, giants 0. Just the way I liked it.
But my job wasn't done yet. While the giants bled out, I slid over into the shadows, watching and waiting. But no footsteps sounded, and I didn't hear anyone rustling through the underbrush. I'd taken care of them quietly enough not to attract attention. Good.
I pulled my knife out of Phil's back and made sure both giants were dead before I slipped off into the woods back the way that I'd come. The looking and listening were over. It was time to get on with things-and take care of Elliot Slater once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I walked back through the woods to my previous spot and grabbed my duffel bag. I slipped the scabbard that I'd taken from Owen Grayson's house over my shoulders. The black leather straps crisscrossed over my chest, and I slid the two long swords into their anointed slots. Once that was done, I grabbed a few more small supplies and left the bag where it was.
I headed to the left, keeping inside the tree line and circling to the far, opposite side of the patio until I faced the very back of the mansion. Only one giant guard remained outside next to the pool, since the others had been pulled away to take care of Finn. Like it or not, Finn's plan had worked.
Since it looked like the shooting was over, the guard had once again lit up a cigarette. He faced away from me, out toward the woods where Finn had been, and I watched while he tucked his gun into the small of his back. The other man that had been sitting just inside the glass doors was nowhere to be found. He was probably somewhere farther inside the mountain mansion, helping Elliot Slater secure Finn for the torture that lay ahead. I wouldn't get a better chance than this.
So I took it.
I hopscotched my way down the slope, skipping from one tree to another. The landscape hadn't been as well cleared on the back side of the house as it had on the front, which gave me plenty of cover to work with. I moved quicker than I had before, but I took care to make as little noise as possible. I still needed every bit of surprise that I could muster. Because now Finn's life depended on it, along with Roslyn's.
Two minutes later, I'd worked my way to the edge of the stone patio, which was set about four feet off the ground. I eased up, letting my head rise just above the surface of the rim. All around me, the stones whispered of wind and water. They also reverberated faintly with the sharp crack of gunshots that had just been fired. But those notes of alarm had already started to fade away. That bit of violence had been too brief and the majority of it too far away for the action to permanently sink into the patio. As for what I was about to do to the man in front of me, well, that kind of violence would probably linger in the stone for quite some time to come.
The guard stubbed out one cigarette with his foot and reached into his suit jacket for another. I wouldn't get a better opportunity-so I took it.
I pulled myself up, rolled over, and came up into a crouch behind some heavy, wrought-iron patio furniture. The guard drew a lighter out of his pocket and clicked it a couple of times, trying to get more than mere sparks out of the cheap plastic. I rose to my feet and tiptoed forward, a silverstone knife in either hand.
The lighter flared, illuminating the guard's profile. He turned to face me, one hand pressing down on the lighter tab to keep the flame going.
"Finally," he muttered.
Last word he ever said. The giant never even saw me step out from behind the furniture and creep forward so that I was directly in front of him. He lit his cigarette and lifted his head, smoke streaming from his nostrils like he was a mythical dragon. My first knife ripped into his stomach, spilling his guts all over the stone patio. The second knife slammed into his windpipe, cutting off any sound he might make. The poor guy never knew what hit him. He choked on his own blood, even as his body spasmed from the shock of the two vicious, fatal wounds. He went down on his knees, halfway to dead, but I held him up and cut his throat, just to be sure.
Since I didn't feel like dragging his body off the patio, I tipped the dead giant into the pool. He sank to the bottom, blood still spurting out of his wounds, turning the crystal water the ugly brown color of iodine. Under my boots, the stone of the patio took on a harsher note from the giant's spattered blood. A symphony wouldn't have sounded better to me at the moment.
Gin 3, giants 0.
I waited a few seconds, but no one seemed to have heard me take out my latest victim. When I was sure that the kill had been clean and quiet, I eased over to the glass patio door, turned the knob, and slipped inside.
The inside of the mansion looked just as I'd expected it to-lush, elegant, expensive. Thick carpeting, throw rugs, and just enough natural wood and stone to make you think that you were in some rustic oasis instead of a carefully crafted structure. I could tell Slater had had the structure built especially for him because all the doorways had at least a twelve-foot clearance and were five feet wide. Giants didn't like to be crowded.