The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) by David Leadbeater Page A

scared and sad, young women and a couple of guys, clearly not members of the party group.
    “Hey, Pilipo!” the second bouncer shouted. “Fresh meat for you!”
    Drake followed the girls up the short stairway. It was much quieter up here. So far he’d counted twelve unmistakable bad guys, all of who were probably carrying arms. But when he weighed the twelve local enforcers against Mai, Alicia and himself he wasn’t worried.
    He stayed behind them, keeping as low a profile as possible. Pilipo was the target, and now they were within a few feet of him. This nightclub was about to really start rocking.
    Pilipo stared at the girls. The sound of his throat clicking drily registered his interest. Drake vaguely saw his hand lunge toward a drink and tip it back.
    “Claude sent you?”
    Pilipo was a short, thin man. His wide, expressive eyes betrayed to Drake immediately that this man wasn’t a friend of Claude’s. Wasn’t even an acquaintance. He was more a puppet, a figurehead for the club. An expendable asset.
    “Not really.” Mai had figured it out too and switched from passive female to kick-ass killer in the blink of an eye. Stiffened fingers jabbed into two of the nearest men’s throats and a deep front-kick sent a third falling off his chair into oblivion. Alicia leapt onto the table at her side, landed on her ass, feet up high and slapped a man with flowing neck-tattoos hard across the face with her heel. He crashed into the bruiser next to him, taking them both down. Alicia leapt onto a third.
    Drake was slow by comparison, but much more devastating. An oriental with long hair stood up to him first and drove forward with a jab, front-kick combination. Drake sidestepped, caught the leg and twisted with immense, sudden power until the man screamed and dropped into a blubbering ball.
    The next man drew a knife. Drake grinned. The blade shot forward. Drake caught the wrist, snapped it and buried the weapon deep into its owner’s stomach.
    Drake moved on.
    The unfortunate hangers-on were fleeing from the table. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t know anything about Claude. The one man who might was predictably huddled as far into his plush leather chair as humanly possible, eyes wide with fear, lips working soundlessly.
    “Pilipo.” Mai sidled in next to him and put a hand on his thigh. “First you want our company. Now you don’t. It’s rude. What’s it take to be my friend?”
    “I... I have men.” Pilipo was gesturing wildly, his fingers shaking like a man on the verge of alcohol addiction. “Everywhere.”
    Drake faced the two bouncers who had almost made it to the top of the stairs. Alicia was mopping up the stragglers to his right. The heavy dance music blasted from below. Bodies threw themselves in various stages of intoxication all around the dance floor. The DJ mixed and grunted to a captive audience.
    “Claude didn’t send you,” the second bouncer gasped, clearly amazed. Drake used the staircase’s newel posts to swing forward and plant both feet into the man’s chest, sending him toppling backward into the noisy pit.
    The other man leapt up the last step and came at Drake, arms swinging. The Englishman took a blow in the ribs that would have felled a lesser man. It hurt. His adversary paused, waiting for effect.
    But Drake just sighed and delivered a close uppercut, swinging from the very soles of his feet. The bouncer was lifted off his toes, instantly unconscious. The noise as he hit the ground made Pilipo visibly jump.
    “You were saying?” Mai traced a perfectly manicured finger nail across the Hawaiian’s stubbly cheek. “About your men?”
    “Are you crazy? Do you even know who this club belongs to?”
    Mai smiled. Alicia paced up to them both, unruffled after taking out four bodyguards. “Funny you should say that.” She planted a foot over Pilipo’s heart and pressed hard. “This guy, Claude. Where is he?”
    Pilipo’s eyes darted like captive fireflies. “I… I don’t