As Owen dove, he simultaneously kicked over a nearby round table, using its heavy top as a natural shield. Nikki finally realized what was happening and cried out as Owen dragged her behind the overturned table.
To be fair, the furnishings in a presidential suite were top-notch. The solid wood table perfectly absorbed the bullets aimed at them.
Owen forced himself to stay calm. He didn't know why the CIA operative wanted him dead, but the moment bullets started flying, there was no turning back—this was to the death.
Unfortunately, Owen was unarmed, having just arrived from the airport. His hands were empty, but he spotted a heavy glass ashtray on the ground. It would have to do as a makeshift weapon.
Bullets continued to "thup thup" into the table, splintering wood everywhere. Nikki screamed, but Owen's mind was spinning, rapidly calculating his options.
"Get down!"
A round hit the table's edge, splintering a huge chunk. Owen yanked Nikki lower and forced her to the ground.
So far, the attacker had fired eight shots. Owen tested the table's edges, trying to bait the shooter into wasting ammo. In situations like this, whoever had the gun held the power—he needed to empty the opponent's magazine.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen…
After the thirteenth shot, the shooter seemed to catch on and stopped firing. Instead, he began circling the table, clearly intending to come at them from the side.
Damn, Owen cursed inwardly. This fat guy wasn't nearly as dumb as he looked.
The attacker continued closing in, ignoring Owen's attempts to draw him out. He was clearly planning to round the table and finish them off.
"RAHHH—!"
Owen shouted and flipped the heavy wooden table toward the assailant, charging with it.
Chebi hadn't expected that. He was caught off guard and knocked backward—but it felt to Owen like he'd hit a wall. The guy weighed nearly 200 kilograms—Owen barely managed to move him.
The two crashed to the ground with the table between them, rolling in a tangled heap. Owen scrambled on top of Chebi and slammed a punch into his face—but that only worked once. Chebi recovered quickly and, with a grunt, lifted Owen and flung him across the room.
Owen scrambled back up, just as Chebi did the same. The fallen Glock lay nearby—closer to Chebi. The big man twisted toward the weapon.
Not good.
Owen lunged again, slamming into Chebi. But this time, the behemoth was ready. He braced himself and took the hit like a brick wall.
Owen failed to knock him over, but did manage to kick the gun under the sofa. He followed up with a flurry of punches, but they just bounced off the mountain of flesh.
They weren't in the same weight class. Chebi was like a boss with high HP and defense. Owen's blows couldn't break through.
Mistake.
He had to target weak points—throat, groin, eyes, or temples. No matter how tough someone was, those spots remained vulnerable.
One misstep, and Chebi grabbed him again. He lifted Owen like a ragdoll and slammed him into the ground.
THUD.
Owen felt his organs rattle. He couldn't breathe, paralyzed for a moment.
Chebi raised his massive boot to stomp him.
CLANK!
At the last second, Nikki intervened. She grabbed the glass ashtray Owen had dropped and smashed it over Chebi's head.
It didn't even crack the skin. Chebi turned slowly, glaring at her with fury.
Nikki offered a nervous smile. "Heh… good quality ashtray. Still in one piece."
WHAM.
Chebi backhanded her like an angry gorilla. Nikki spun twice in the air—720 degrees—and hit the floor, out cold.
CRACK.
Owen capitalized on the distraction. He snatched the ashtray from Nikki's hand and shattered it over Chebi's skull. Unlike before, this time it broke—and blood began to trickle down.
Stunned, Chebi staggered. Owen pressed the advantage, landing punches to his nose and throat—but the blow to the neck mostly bounced off his thick jaw.
Blood streamed from Chebi's nose. His eyes watered uncontrollably. Owen took a step back and hooked his foot behind the big man's leg, sending him toppling.
The floor trembled as Chebi crashed down like a meteor. Owen lunged and began stomping his face, but Chebi blocked the blows and grabbed Owen's leg.
This is bad.
Owen knew never to let someone this powerful get a grip on him. One punch from a guy like this could end him.
He unleashed a barrage of knee strikes, but unless it hit a weak spot, they did nothing. Chebi kept rising, shrugging off the pain. Owen swung again, aiming for his face, but the blow landed on his shoulder instead.
And then—BAM.
It was like getting hit by a freight train. Chebi slammed into Owen like a bulldozer, slamming him into the wall.
Owen slid to the floor. Chebi, enraged, ripped a plaster sculpture off the wall and hurled it at him. Owen rolled aside just in time. The sculpture smashed to powder where he'd just been.
Chebi followed, throwing his full 400-pound weight at Owen like a wrecking ball.
Owen rolled again—barely avoiding being flattened.
The ground shook. Owen staggered up. Chebi was coming again, thunderous steps pounding the floor.
He threw two massive punches. Owen dodged, and the fists blasted holes in the drywall, destroying nearby décor.
Owen aimed another punch at his throat—blocked. He recoiled and swept a kick toward Chebi's groin, quiet and precise. He was confident—if it landed, even a Transformer would go down.
But Chebi anticipated it. He had learned Owen's tricks, and guarded his weak points well.
Owen retreated, grabbing anything within reach—lamps, books, cushions—and hurling them at Chebi.
Chebi batted them away, then grabbed a metal coat rack from the floor and swung it with terrifying force. Owen ducked, and it smashed into the ground with a clang, sparks flying.
Owen dodged again. The metal rod whooshed by, humming with deadly speed. One hit from that and bones would shatter.
(End of Chapter)
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