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The fucking engaged tone continued, then cut off.
Jasper unfastened Archie's seat belt and fisted his hand in the front of her hoody. He unlocked his door and shoved it open, showing his free hand with the palm in view, then stepped out, dragging her physically across the middle console and into the driver's seat. She cried out, but he didn't let go until she was in his seat. "Fucking drive, Anarchy. Put your foot on the gas and go." The command in his voice was unmistakable.
He slammed the door and moved away from the truck, grateful she was obeying him as the locks clicked.
"Tell the girl to get out of the vehicle." Idiot number one ordered, shining the flashlight into Jasper's face. "Otherwise, she's going to see your guts spilling over the road."
Really? Jasper began to wonder how much intellect had been passed from father to son. "Uh-huh. Not the most effective threat when I know it's me Dominic wants a hell of a lot more than he wants Anarchy. He gets his dirty paws on her, I come running. That's the scenario he's betting on, right? Sending his soldier sons to do the shit work on his behalf lessens the risk of him losing his head. I'm guessing you're Gerald?"
The bright beam of light twitched. "How'd you know that?"
He didn't dare look at the truck, but he was supremely pissed that there was still a truck there for him to look at. His sub better get her act together and hightail it away from here before the twins weren't the only danger waiting for her. "Lucky guess. Did he raise you together, train you as a pair? Or did our father split you up, keep you segregated for most of your childhood?"
"Gerry, don't let the fucker suck you in. Knock him out and get him in the car. I'll get the girl. We need to get out of this shithole before someone finds this mess." Erik, the older and obviously more intelligent of the twins, spoke from behind. His tone was less than pleased.
Warily, Jasper turned. He braced to be rushed from Gerald's side, but stared at the man behind him. This wasn't the man who'd killed Michael; the voice wasn't deep enough. "The girl is going nowhere. Dominic wants his prodigal son to go home, he can have me...if you can take me." He lashed out and hammered his fist on the truck, hoping he'd startle Anarchy into action.
The engine revved, and Erik yelled for his brother to stop Anarchy from escaping even as he lunged for Jasper. He was little more than a blur of movement in the darkness, but Jasper had been born and raised in the shadows. His entire youth had been designed to make him one.
A shadow. A killer.
A monster.
With everything at stake, he let the shackles fall from the beast he kept locked away. With a roar of fury, he charged Erik, meeting him head-on in a collision that rattled his bones. Head tucked down, his shoulder leading the way, he rammed his half-sibling in the gut and lifted Erik off his feet, throwing him backward.
Goddamn, that felt fucking good.
Something heavy hit him in the back a second later—a fist between the shoulder blades, he realized as his lungs seized. He started to go down to his knees, but a thick arm twice the size of his own curled around his neck in a chokehold.
Blood and adrenaline pumping through his ears, Jasper heard the truck speed off, the tires spinning to gain traction before Anarchy got the fucking thing moving. Knowing she was out of harm's way made what came next so much easier.
Now they could spill all the blood they liked.
He slammed his head back, felt his skull connect with Gerald's nose. He felt the bone smash, the cartilage give under the sharp pressure, and blood erupted down the back of his neck. Gerald howled in outrage, tossing him aside as though he weighed nothing.
Still breathless, Jasper hit the asphalt and rolled, wheezing as he stared up at the sky. So many stars, he thought, without the lights of a city to dim them. With a grunt, he rolled again until he was on his hands and knees, struggling to suck in a breath. Fucking Gerald had a punch on him.
He saw the boot as it came at him, managing to twist his body to deflect the blow away from his stomach. It caught his hip instead, damn near flipping him onto his back as pain exploded. If he didn't get back on his feet, he was little more than a play toy for these two. They'd beat him bloody, break him into pieces, and drag his shattered body back to hell.
The boot returned, aiming for his face this time.
Jasper grabbed it reflexively, catching it before the toe smashed into his cheek. He liked being able to eat, and Erik was determined to kick his teeth out. In an awkward position, there wasn't much leeway to fight back. With one hand on the heel of the boot, the other on the toe, Jasper wrenched them in opposite directions sharply. He heard the ankle bone crack, its owner scream, and spun himself around to take out the supporting leg.
As Erik hit the road beside him, Jasper pulled in his first blessedly full breath.
To kill or not to kill, that was the question?
He caught sight of the mangled body in the road not ten feet away. In a small pool of blood, the man he assumed was Michael lay crumped. In the beam of Erik's headlights, Jasper could see the crimson-stained clothing and gaping throat wound. He didn't want to think what damage his truck tires had caused post-mortem, but he could only be relieved the poor bastard had been dead when they ran over him.
Seeing that body hardened his focus. Reminded him that this wasn't a game, it wasn't training. Gerald had a knife in his possession, one he'd already used tonight, and neither of his half-siblings deserved to see another dawn. They would only bring pain and destruction down on his life if he let them live.
Erik was pale, sweating, writhing on the ground. A spiral fracture could do that to a man.
Jasper pushed to his feet, was barely standing when a fist caught him under the jaw and sent him sprawling again. It hurt like a motherfucker, but he got back up, spitting out blood. Prepared to launch himself at Gerald, he stopped when the light glinted off a bloody blade.
This was no pocketknife. It took Jasper all of ten seconds to identify it as a jungle hunting knife. He'd done most of his training with one just like it, could remember how the wooden hilt fit into his hand. Five-inch blade made of one of the sharpest metals, almost one and a half inches at its widest point. Eight ounces of death held in one hand.
He took in the loose grip, Gerald's confidence, and cursed.
