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“Tell me something I don’t know,” I retorted. I barely held back an amused snort. I was probably certifiable, a psychiatrist’s bad dream.
I aimed my Glock at his chest. “You have two choices. Put your hands behind your back and come peacefully, or we can do this the hard way—spoiler alert, I’ll still win.”
He looked down at my arm, which had my blood soaking the fabric. His eyes flashed back up to my face, and he said with a grin of his own, “I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re going to regret that.” I waited for him to rush me. I braced my feet and made sure my finger was steady on the trigger. I wasn’t going to kill him if I didn’t have to. I was hoping he’d sell out his brother when he was interrogated by investigators.
He did exactly as I expected him to: he pulled out a switchblade and charged. I was about to step aside and disarm him, but a set of hands grabbed my upper arms. I was jerked backward, and I cried out in pain. My shoulder was so fucked. My gun clattered to the ground at my feet.
The asshole kept me still against him. Ricketts continued rushing me. I pulled my feet up at the last second, relying on my captors’ hold to keep me upright.
Ricketts grunted as the air left his lungs from the force of my kick. He fell backward to the floor, and the knife slid to the other side of the hall. I dropped my feet down to the ground and then stomped on my captor’s foot. At the same time I smashed my head back into his nose. I felt it crunch against my hair, and his blood ran down the back of my neck.
“You bitch!” he howled. The sound pierced the quiet that had fallen in the house.
“Are you okay?” Adam asked through the mic. He sounded winded as if he was in his own brawl.
“Fine,” I grunted as I broke free of my captor’s arms. I bit my lip hard to suppress a scream.
I heard loud footsteps ascending the stairs and was relieved to see Adam. He charged, tackling the guy bleeding from his nose. The sound of bone crunching continued behind me as I turned around to face Ricketts. He was on his feet, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. He held his knife, and he sized me up—likely learning from his first mistake. He wouldn’t charge me a second time. I squatted down and picked up my gun. I turned it in his direction.
“Drop the knife and put your hands behind your head,” I ordered. My voice was filled with a quiet venom that I hoped would haunt him in his nightmares. I wanted my voice to haunt him in his cold, dark jail cell.
“Are you stupid? Not a chance in hell,” he spat.
“Oh, that’s right—you wanted to do things the hard way. Let me clue you in on your little situation.” I pointed my finger at him and made a circle, referring to his whole presence. “You are threatening a federal agent with a knife. I could put a bullet between your eyes right now, especially if you take a single step in my direction.”
“Then do it,” he challenged. He called my bluff. He knew I wanted him alive. The information he was sitting on was valuable, and he was no use to me dead—just a lot of paperwork.
I put my finger on the trigger and aimed it directly at his face. I made a show of moving my trigger finger. Then I shot the wall right beside his ear.
“Drop the knife, now! This is your last warning!” I screamed at him. I no longer cared for the nice cop routine. I was going to make him shit his pants.
He didn’t.
I aimed at the hand that held the knife and pulled the trigger. The knife dropped from his hand as the bullet met its target, the meaty part of his forearm.
“Fuck you!” he howled. He pulled his arm against his chest to protect it.
Now we matched.
“I bet you wish.” I took him to the ground. I pulled my good arm back and punched him several times in the face. I felt his tooth break against my hand, lacerating my knuckle. He turned his head to the left to avoid another hit, but it didn’t matter. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I used my bad hand to hold his head in place. He struggled under my weight. He tried to push me off of him, but I wouldn’t budge—my legs wrapped around his. I shifted my bad arm and dug the elbow into his wounded arm. He tried to grab for my throat, and the motion triggered something in me that caused me to snap. I threw another punch to his face, and instinct took over. My fist kept flying, over and over. I had no real purpose except to extend his suffering, to make him pay. I sank into a rage as I imagined how many women he choked out. I imagined the women that may never be found, and I completely lost it. My vision turned red, and my chest burned with a hatred so raw, I could have breathed fire.
It was like I slipped back into the person I was after my deployment.
“Abby.” The word came from behind me, but I couldn’t be bothered to turn around. It was like I didn’t know how to stop hitting the man. I wasn’t physically capable of self-control.
“Abby!” Adam yelled at me.
I still couldn’t stop. All I could focus on was Ricketts’ pain. I never got this kind of satisfaction in New York—I watched as my colleagues busted in the back door of the hidden floors of the high rise and arrested everyone.
I felt another set of hands grab me by my arms. I screamed in pain. Yates and Guy appeared in front of me looking startled—like I was a rabid animal. They shook their heads when Adam cleared his throat behind me. They grabbed Ricketts, cuffed him, and then dragged him down the stairs and out of my view.
“Bring him back! I haven’t killed him yet!” I shouted. I pushed against my restraints. The words flew out of my mouth, but they didn’t feel like they belonged to me. I was like a woman possessed.
“Abby, you’ve got to get it together. Boss is going to be here any minute. Do you want him to see you like this?” He didn’t sound angry but sad. Sad for me—as if it hurt him to see me like this. “It’s all over.” His tone was soft, as if he was speaking to a small, scared child, not a raging woman.
It worked, because he stirred something else inside of me. He reached inside my chest to find something other than rage.
