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Throwing a heavy right hook, I smash his right cheekbone in and cave the side of his face, and yet, he smiles. His arms stay high and fuel my rage, and each time I feel a new bone break, my heart relishes in the pain I’m finally able to inflict on him.
He doesn’t cry out as his left arm falls limp and broken. He doesn’t stop smiling even through missing teeth and a crushed jaw. His face is covered in blood, his nose and cheekbone lay shattered, but his right hand clutches at his gun like it’s the only thing that keeps him going.
He inches it up between our chests and brings the barrel to within an inch below my chin.
Nope. That’s not how I’m going out.
“Roll him!” Aiden shouts. “Scissor. Now!”
His deep voice is tinny, almost like he’s calling from the end of a tunnel, but I hear him, and because I’ve been training so damn long, I do as I’m told.
It’s counterintuitive to let your enemy on top, but Aiden would never lead me wrong, so I throw my weight to the side and drag the fucker until he’s sitting on my hips.
His new position immediately removes the gun from my chin, but now he simply digs the barrel into my chest.
“Jim!”
Bubs.
The gun goes off and echoes in the mostly empty house.
One. Two.
My ears ring from the loud noise.
So loud.
