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Slammed into him.
Drove him backward into empty air.
And then they were both crashing down the stairs in an insane tumble of growling, shouting, punching.
“Lucas,” I screamed, scrambling up to the top of the stairs even as every molecule in my body wanted me to run down them.
Lucas. I had to help—
They hit the bottom of the stairs in a sickening crunch, Dewey on top of Lucas.
My stomach sank. I screamed Lucas’s name again.
The police officer smashed his fist into Lucas’s jaw. Swung again.
But before his knuckles could hit their target, Lucas snapped his body into some kind of wicked V, locked his calves around Dewey’s neck and then, with so much speed it was dizzying to watch, yanked his legs back to the ground, taking Dewey with them.
The cop’s head collided with the floor a heartbeat before Lucas flipped into this awesome body-bending jump and was on his feet.
And then he was only on one foot, as his other swung in a fluid arc and slammed into Dewey’s ribcage.
It was both beautiful and horrific to see, a kick of extreme power and damage and grace. Oh God, was this what Lucas was like when fighting all the time?
Dewey let out a strangled oof I heard all the way at the top of the stairs.
Hot relief and hotter elation rushed through me at the pained sound. Lucas swung his other foot before his first even landed on the ground, this time his shin smashing against the side of Dewey’s head. The cop spun into a lurching tumble that finished face first against the floor.
“Ronnie?” Lucas looked up at me from the bottom of the stairs, his chest heaving, his stare locking on mine. “Are you hurt? Did he—”
“Look out!” I screamed as Dewey damn near threw himself at Lucas from the floor.
The kick was a blur of movement. One second, Lucas was gazing up at me, the next he was spinning in a 360-degree turn, his feet completely off the floor.
I heard his booted heel smash into Dewey’s jaw before I saw the cop’s furious movement become a wild fall to the side, his head leading the way.
By the time both of Lucas’s feet were on the floor, Dewey was a motionless lump sprawled facedown on the floor.
“Is he dead?” I called.
Lucas dropped into a limber crouch and pressed his fingers to the cop’s neck. He shook his head and flicked me a quick look. “No.”
“Good,” I burst out. “Don’t let him move.”
I didn’t wait to see Lucas’s reaction to my command. I scurried as fast as I could until I found what I was looking for.
The butcher’s knife.
I paused long enough to pick it up from where Dewey had forced it from my hand and then ran back to the stairs leading to the basement.
My heart stopped when I found no sign of Lucas or Dewey.
What the fuck?
“Lucas?” I yelled, gripping the knife like it was a lifeline.
An image of Dewey straddling a motionless Lucas filled my head, and for a moment I could barely breathe.
“Down here,” Lucas’s shout floated up from below.
