Читать книгу Border Offensive - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

The smell of blood had gotten the jaguar’s attention

The Executioner turned slowly as the cat circled him, never quite letting itself be seen by its intended prey. Bolan’s grip on the tire iron tightened as he swung it, trying to loosen his protesting muscles.

“Walk away, pal,” Bolan said. “Go look for dinner elsewhere.”

The only reply he got was the sound of the animal moving through the brush. He caught the flash of a tail out of the corner of his eye. Green eyes met his and Bolan froze. He was very aware of his blood dripping onto the thirsty soil, and of the pounding of his heart.

Bolan let the tire iron slide through his fingers until he was gripping the end. He’d get one swing, just one. “So it had better be good, right?”

The jaguar snarled.

“Come on then. You want me? I’m not going anywhere.”

The jaguar paused, then its muscles bunched and its tail went rigid. Bolan tensed. The cat sprang.

And the Executioner—his body honed into a weapon second-to-none—lunged to meet it.