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I grunt and dodge the next one, spinning so that my elbow clatters into a mouth, dislocating something, and then I carry through and hit another man with a spinning back fist.
Pop, the sound of bone breaking, and then I slide backward and grab another’s arm and throw him into two of his buddies, the three of them falling like pinballs.
We all circle the gun, the prize in the center of it all, the blood seeping into my shirt and dripping down my hand, making my grip slick as I dive and grip the back of a man’s neck, lashing my hand up with a ferocious speed that leaves him with no chance to react.
I use him as a shield, squeezing so that all he can do is squirm and cry as I yank him in front of me.
Several blows meant for me land on him in the confusion of the fight, the man screaming at them to stop, to leave him alone.
I toss him aside and spin around, always keeping near the gun, fists raised and head ducked in a fighter’s stance.
The world recedes.
Sound stops.
All I know is the fight and what I have to do.
All I know is Millie, our future, and that I can never let anything happen to her.
A quick scan—two of the men are clumsily climbing to their feet, but don’t look fit enough to fight.
The remaining five, including Finn, are spreading out around me, a couple of them with knives in their hands now. Finn’s gaze snaps to the pistol on the ground.
He leaps.
I jump forward and launch into a flying knee, connecting with his nose and causing a torrent of red blood to spray into the air and onto the ground.
The force of it almost sends me toppling completely over, and I have to grab onto another man’s shoulders to stop from falling.
I end up dragging him to the ground and just about manage to roll over so that the kicks aimed at me land on him.
I toss him up and spring to my feet, spinning into a whirlwind of violence, not thinking, not even feeling anymore.
I just act, the same way I acted when I was overseas when training became everything, and instincts blotted personality when I just was whatever the fuck I needed to be.
I catch a fist and crush it.
Crunch.
Breaking all the bones in the motherfucker’s hand.
I dodge a hissing knife and grab him at the wrist and wrench him downward, bringing my knee up in another bloody kiss to his nose.
Another knife—I spin around to the back of him, pushing him so hard that he falls onto his face, letting out an animal screech of pain.
We all pause again, circling the gun, every single one of them sporting an injury now.
Four of them are out of the fight, limping and whining and barely standing up.
Finn and Eagle Neck and another stalk toward me, Finn gripping a knife, wheezing loudly with each breath from where I broke his nose.
“What about the fire?” Finn moans, words distorted with his injury. “What about the blood?”
“You’re a sick motherfucker,” I snarl. “She was a child. She came here to get away from you. And you followed her. You tormented her. You tried to ruin her life. Did you really think I’d let a bastard like you ruin my woman’s life?”
He screams as he runs forward, but I sense that his men want to run away instead. They move cautiously, too cautiously.
I dart forward and feint to the left, causing all three of them to move in that direction.
And then I throw myself to the right and unleash a flurry of well-aimed punches, shattering ribs and jaws and then spinning backward, away.
I lean down and scoop up the gun and fire a shot into the air, my eyes narrowed at the men.
I lower the gun and aim it at them.
“All of you on the ground, now,” I say firmly. “In a circle on the fucking ground or I swear to God, I’ll kill you, every goddamn last one of you. Now.”
The men drag their broken bodies into a tight huddle on the blood and snow-wet lawn. I keep the gun trained on them, wincing a little when my shoulder wound gives a hot spike. I glance at it, glad to see that the bleeding is slowing now.
Still, it hurts like a motherfucker.
“Millie,” I call, not taking my eyes off Finn or his men.
“Yes?” she yells back from the house.
Lava has stopped barking.
I didn’t notice it in the fray, but Millie must’ve gotten Jackie free and gotten them all into the house. Pride whelms in my chest.
“The police?”
“They’re on their way,” she says.
“Good,” I growl, hefting the gun at Finn. “There’s just one last thing you’ve gotta do, you fucking bastard.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Apologize,” I snarl.
“W-what?” he says.
