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I turn around so fast that he doesn’t realize I’m already on to him. I see the knife coming. The silver metallic glint of the blade as it flashes out, its sharp tip reaching for my gut. I jump to the side.
He comes at me again.
I can’t see much, dammit. He’s dressed all in black. A balaclava on his face. Black jacket and jeans. Combat boots. Black gloves. All fucking black except for the knife. He’s shorter than me, and he’s a fast motherfucker.
“Come at me,” I hiss as he misses again.
He mimes a direct hit, then throws out a left hook that almost catches me in the ear. I hit back, an intended uppercut to the chin but I miss.
He slashes at me once more before his knee comes up.
This prick is determined to hurt me. I’m bigger and slower but I’m stronger. Which means that all I need is one blow to take him out, and I’ve got enough anger in me to want to break him into little bits and pieces. He moves to the side, and I move with him.
I don’t see the hand reaching for his jacket pocket.
I only see it come up and feel the pepper spray hitting my face.
“Fuck!” I cry out and jump back as the poison burns into my eyes. He didn’t get me directly, but he got enough to temporarily blind me. I only have my ears to guide me, now. I’m fucked if I’m not able to block what’s bound to follow.
His boots scratch across the asphalt.
He’s coming closer.
I throw a punch, just to keep him at bay. I manage to open one eye, and I see the blade coming from the left. I slap his wrist with enough strength to hear him grunt from the pain as he drops the knife. This is it. My single opportunity to make this moment count. I tackle the fucker, but he’s strong, way stronger than I suspected.
I can’t lock my arm around his neck. Shit. He’s wriggling out of my hold like a cat possessed by the Devil. I punch him in the gut, and I try to get him into a lion’s chokehold, but he’s a slippery bastard. We go at it for what feels like forever until he knees me in the groin. A hot flash of pain shoots through my whole body.
“Hey! What are you doing?” someone calls out from the street.
I’m close to falling to my knees, but I’m able to see my attacker as he bolts away. He rushes to the other end of the alley, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He left the knife behind. Relief washes over me as I lean back against my car, panting and struggling to catch my breath.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” the young busboy asks me. I know him from the diner next door. Good kid in his early twenties. “Fallon?” he croaks upon recognizing me.
“What’s up, Trent?” I reply, my voice ragged. “Thanks for spooking that asshole.”
I can barely see him, my eyes stinging and constantly tearing up. But at least the assailant is gone. One thing is for sure, though—what just happened was no coincidence. Someone is definitely gunning for us. They are determined to either take us out or at least down long enough for an agenda to be fulfilled. Whoever it is, they’re about to find out they fucked with the wrong Cassidy’s.
“What happened? Who was that guy?” Trent asks.
“I don’t know, buddy, but I’m definitely gonna need to check your CCTV footage,” I tell him. “Assuming he’ll show up on it.”
“Need me to call the cops?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. My brother’s home. I’ll talk to him directly.”
“Okay. Do you need anything?” Trent asks.
I rub my eyes with my jacket sleeves, increasingly uncomfortable with the prospect of getting behind the wheel in my condition. We’ve got eye drops and a solid first aid kit back at the house. I’ll need to use that before I can trust my vision to drive.
“Yeah, actually. Can you give me a ride home? I can’t see shit.”
It’s been a long time since someone has driven me home, but this is a stark reminder of how vulnerable I can become in an instant if I’m not careful. Fucking hell, I thought Iwascareful. At least I didn’t get stabbed. It’ll make for a bitterly funny story someday, though. The night the mountain got maced. Oh, yeah, Luke will get a kick out of it.
A couple of days later,both my brother and I are noticeably better. Kellan still has trouble moving, but at least he’s able to breathe easier. We haven’t told Avery about the guy with the knife. We agreed that she doesn’t need to know. Not yet anyway. I was able to get right into a shower and wash the mace from my eyes before she knew anything was amiss.
We also agreed that the two of us need to talk to our parents again. This time, however, we’re using a different, more aggressive tone. We find them at their ranch, riding their horses back from the pasture while the ranch hands bring the cattle in from grazing out in the wide, northern field. Mom seems surprised to see us standing outside their house, but I think Dad saw us coming since word of Kellan’s incident first got out. Yet neither bothered to even text us, to ask if we were okay. That in itself speaks volumes.
“Ah, behold, my wandering sons,” Dad says in a smug tone as he gets off his horse.
