The fight was over. And on the ground, the assassin lay still. Dead.
But one of the assassins was different. He was not dead. Adam had hurt him very badly, more than the others. The assassin lay on the floor, blood everywhere, his clothes ripped.
One of his hands... it was cut off, leaving a terrible, bloody place on his arm. His breathing was shallow, weak. His eyes were closed, but a small, small movement showed he was still clinging to life. He was almost gone.
Adam had been full of wild, burning anger just moments ago, hitting and fighting. He had wanted these people, these killers who dared to come into his home, to pay.
But now, looking down at the broken body, some of that hot anger started to cool. It was like the fire inside him turned down a little.
He looked at the assassin. He saw how bad off he was. He knew this one wouldn't live long without help. And for some reason, looking at him, Adam felt a strange thought. He needed answers, and dead men don't talk.
