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“I’m going to enjoy beating you to death, you useless piece of shit,” Michael snarls, slamming the butt of his rifle against my face.
My eyebrow splits from the impact. The bones in my face feel as though they’ve been tested, especially my brow and cheekbone.
He laughs, spittle hitting my flesh. “After I kill you, I’m going to find your missing sister and make her my new wife. I’ll fuck her teenage cunt over and over until she bleeds. There’ll be nothing you can do about it because you’ll be dead!”
Before he can hit me again, I block my face with one arm and manage to stab him with the other. The knife punches through his jacket, finding a soft part of him, going deep to the hilt.
“You’ll never touch Raegan, you sick pedophile!”
“Motherfucker,” Michael grunts. “You fucking stabbed me!”
He manages to roll away from me, taking my knife with him. I stagger to my feet, desperately trying to see straight after the two hits I took to the head. Michael, now on his back, aims his rifle at my face.
Crack!
Another shot of a rifle goes off elsewhere before Michael has a chance to shoot, stalling him long enough for me to dive at him. I shove his weapon upward, narrowly missing the end of his barrel as his gun discharges. My ear, having been so close, rings from the deafening sound so close to my head. I’m damn near deaf in the other ear too as adrenaline rushes through me. Michael is saying something to me that I can’t hear.
All I know is he can’t win.
He can’t ever have an opportunity to get Raegan in his clutches ever again. She’s mine to protect and I’ll do that until the last breath I ever take.
“Just fucking die,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
He and I wrestle for the upper hand, both of us trying to take his rifle. I press my knee down onto my knife that still sticks out of his side. Michael bucks from the pain of it, loosening his grip on the gun. I pull the rifle from his grip, whip it around, and point it at his face. My finger hooks around the trigger as he grabs the barrel. Rather than pushing it away from him, he yanks me toward him. When I’m close, he head butts me, hitting me across the same spot on my brow his rifle did.
I abandon the rifle to use my fists instead, slamming them into his chest over and over and over. His own fist swings around to my back, aiming right for my kidney. Grunting in pain, I grapple with his offending arm, doing my best to keep him from hitting me again.
He rolls us, landing heavily on top of me. His hands find my throat, locking around it and blocking my air supply. I swing a fist at his head, but he easily dodges it. His grin is evil as fuck as he chokes me.
This is what she’d see if he caught her.
He’d rape my sister until she was a husk who wanted to die.
Fuck. That.
Remembering the knife, I grab hold of the hilt and yank it out of his side. He grunts, but his hold on me doesn’t relent. Blackness eats at my vision, but I’m relentless in slashing and stabbing whatever parts of him I can get to. Even when I think I’m going to die from lack of oxygen, I fight with all I have, my grip on the knife never waning despite how slick it becomes.
Everything goes completely dark.
Fragments of every charged moment I’ve had with Raegan and Ronan flicker in my mind. If I’m going to die, this is a good way to go.
A heaviness slams down on me, dragging me completely under. Warmth washes over me. I get lost in the visions, losing touch with the here and now.
I’m dying.
I’m dead.
Air sucks into my lungs, making my body jolt. I gasp like a fish on the bank, desperate for the oxygen to bring me back to life. My chest burns and my throat damn near feels crushed, but I can breathe.
I’m breathing.
I’m alive.
Blinking several times, I try to chase away the dark haze. Daylight enters my vision, blinding me. Greedy for the light, I squint, desperate to see my surroundings.
The heavy weight remains on me and my skin still feels slick and warm. Awareness trickles through me. I shove at the heaviness on me and it falls aside with athwump. With the weight gone, I can breathe more freely. Slowly, I sit up on my elbows, making sense of my situation.
Michael lies on his side, eyes open and face contorted into one of rage or pain. But he’s not breathing or blinking or moving. He’s dead.
