This was a bad time to be on the injured list.
Moving so that he was a target too, in hopes the man wouldn’t focus on Ethan, Gene stepped out.
When Rodney looked at him, Ethan saw the flicker in his eyes and tried to rationalize with him.
“James, you’re in there. Don’t let him win,” he said, watching him with his gun trained on him.
Blackhawk didn’t want to kill the man. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been a product of his environment. The issues in his life were the reflections of his father’s sin.
NOT.
HIS.
“Help me,” he said. “He’s sick. I need help,” James said, pushing his way out so he could fight the man.
Ethan knew they had to help him.
Or try.
If he shot one more person, he was pretty sure Greyson, and Gabe, were going to kick his ass.
“Don’t shoot him. He’s fighting it.”
As he spoke, the man moved closer.
“He’s trying to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt them,” he admitted.
Ethan had to get him help.
“You can beat him, James. You can beat Rodney. He’s who was made after the trauma. You’re better than this.”
Only, Ethan knew it was not going to happen.
Suddenly, there was sick laughter.
The more dominant personality came back, and he wanted blood.
“Rodney is dead. Sam is here to play,” he said, running at Ethan.
Before he could crash into him, Gene moved too, swung out, and clocked the man with his casted arm.
HARD.
Holy shit!
Rodney went down like a ton of bricks.
“Well, that is kind of handy,” Gene said, shaking out his arm from the pain that had caused. That was probably a bad idea, but now they could say he ran into a wall.
Plaster was plaster.
As soon as the man hit the ground, the front door was kicked in, and in came the detective.
Gun out.
“You’re a little too late,” Gene said. “He’s out cold.”
The man slid to a stop and took in the scene. On the kitchen table, there was a naked woman, sobbing through her gag. Immediately, Dannie took off his coat, and placed it over her body, giving her some modesty.
