24
The Beast sauntered through the doorway as if he owned the place. The years had reduced his eyes to deep-set slits, but he still carried himself with the threatening presence of a rogue bull.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, or something similar, as Freytag stood and shook his hand. It was hard to hear over the roaring of blood in my ears. Deep inside me, a long-dormant fury rumbled forth like magma gushing up the throat of a volcano, erupting into a cataclysm of emotion and violence.
In an instant, I vaulted onto the table and launched myself at Dietz, swinging, kicking, and pummeling. The world spun around the two of us. I drove hard with elbows, knees, and the heel of my palm at every potentially vulnerable spot on the man.
My arms were twisted behind me as I was pulled off of Dietz.
