a move, I use the time to plan mine. He isn’t going to stay there long, and I know the first chance he has, this tussle is going to turn into a fight to the death, and if I have my way, it will be his. Being stabbed to death is not how I intend to go out.
Coming up behind him, I feel fairly confident I have the upper hand, at least for now. And it’s going really well, too, until the cavalry comes.
N eeding to kick that fucking door in was riding me hard, but it was my partner who even with his woman in that house, condition unknown, reminded me what partners were for. The fucking second she spoke, I knew. The second she called me Rafe, I fucking knew he was in there with her. So dialing it down a notch and sticking with our training we split up, each taking a side of the house, agreeing to meet in the back. He goes right, I go left, checking the windows for movement. Looking into the dining room window what I see is Briggs’ beating my woman. No, that’s not right; he’s rubbing his hands all over her bloody body while he beats her. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s dripping with blood, her own blood.
A calmness comes over me. Which is fucked up considering what’s going down right now, but there it is. The problem I face is twofold; I’m out here and she’s in there. There are two of us and one of him, and in her condition, I don’t see her lasting long, add to that we haven’t seen Venessa. So we play this shit right.
Meeting at the back door, we both get in position. While he works the lock, I have his back. Looking over him into the back door window I see Venessa on the floor, unconscious. Fuck! She’s still fucking healing, and if he hit her, there is no playing by the rules; Rogan will fucking kill him before I can. No sooner do I start my debate on how to tell him, he opens the door; we both rush in and he sees her on the floor, unmoving.
“Angel,” he whispers to himself. “No.”
Silently running, he gently looks over while I cover his back. He continues to whisper, asking her to come back, because fuck, it’s all he knows, and the only one she ever listens to is him anyway. Slowly moving away, I scan the kitchen and hall seeing neither of them. Looking back at my partner, he nods, telling me he’s got this. Just as I prepare to leave the room I hear Venessa whisper my name. Spinning around she’s sitting up leaning on his chest with him touching her to make sure she’s alive again.
“He tried to rape her, Rafe,” she tries, but her voice gives “He was cutting her up again, hitting her, and I couldn’t help her. She fought back.”
“It’s okay Angel,” says Rogan. “Rafe’s gonna get her back.”
“I could see and hear but I couldn’t move, but she fought back,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
At that, I decide to let him handle it. Moving to the wall to take it slow and silent, I hear her yell, “Get on your fucking knees, now!” Then I say, “Fuck this,” and two-time it up the steps. In my quest to rescue the princess, my entrance of kicking the door open does two things: first, it alerts Briggs to my presence, and second, it gives him time to grab my woman.
I kick the door in fully. Macy looks up briefly; Brigg’s looks over. Macy advances, ignoring my presence, and Briggs grabs her, pulling her down and attempting to steal the knife she’s white-knuckling. No words are spoken; seconds matter. She knows this because when she works her way into a semi-seated position across his stomach and chest, she wastes no time. She takes that knife meant for her and buries it in his chest, straight to the hilt. Instinct has him reaching for it, but instead she forces his hands away, pulls the knife back out (which sounds as disgusting as it looks), and proceeds to stab him again, and again.
My body chooses that moment to unfreeze itself, and I approach her, needing her to stop. He’s dead; the bloodbath is over, only it isn’t. It’s just getting started. Every
Coming up behind him, I feel fairly confident I have the upper hand, at least for now. And it’s going really well, too, until the cavalry comes.
N eeding to kick that fucking door in was riding me hard, but it was my partner who even with his woman in that house, condition unknown, reminded me what partners were for. The fucking second she spoke, I knew. The second she called me Rafe, I fucking knew he was in there with her. So dialing it down a notch and sticking with our training we split up, each taking a side of the house, agreeing to meet in the back. He goes right, I go left, checking the windows for movement. Looking into the dining room window what I see is Briggs’ beating my woman. No, that’s not right; he’s rubbing his hands all over her bloody body while he beats her. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s dripping with blood, her own blood.
A calmness comes over me. Which is fucked up considering what’s going down right now, but there it is. The problem I face is twofold; I’m out here and she’s in there. There are two of us and one of him, and in her condition, I don’t see her lasting long, add to that we haven’t seen Venessa. So we play this shit right.
Meeting at the back door, we both get in position. While he works the lock, I have his back. Looking over him into the back door window I see Venessa on the floor, unconscious. Fuck! She’s still fucking healing, and if he hit her, there is no playing by the rules; Rogan will fucking kill him before I can. No sooner do I start my debate on how to tell him, he opens the door; we both rush in and he sees her on the floor, unmoving.
“Angel,” he whispers to himself. “No.”
Silently running, he gently looks over while I cover his back. He continues to whisper, asking her to come back, because fuck, it’s all he knows, and the only one she ever listens to is him anyway. Slowly moving away, I scan the kitchen and hall seeing neither of them. Looking back at my partner, he nods, telling me he’s got this. Just as I prepare to leave the room I hear Venessa whisper my name. Spinning around she’s sitting up leaning on his chest with him touching her to make sure she’s alive again.
“He tried to rape her, Rafe,” she tries, but her voice gives “He was cutting her up again, hitting her, and I couldn’t help her. She fought back.”
“It’s okay Angel,” says Rogan. “Rafe’s gonna get her back.”
“I could see and hear but I couldn’t move, but she fought back,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
At that, I decide to let him handle it. Moving to the wall to take it slow and silent, I hear her yell, “Get on your fucking knees, now!” Then I say, “Fuck this,” and two-time it up the steps. In my quest to rescue the princess, my entrance of kicking the door open does two things: first, it alerts Briggs to my presence, and second, it gives him time to grab my woman.
I kick the door in fully. Macy looks up briefly; Brigg’s looks over. Macy advances, ignoring my presence, and Briggs grabs her, pulling her down and attempting to steal the knife she’s white-knuckling. No words are spoken; seconds matter. She knows this because when she works her way into a semi-seated position across his stomach and chest, she wastes no time. She takes that knife meant for her and buries it in his chest, straight to the hilt. Instinct has him reaching for it, but instead she forces his hands away, pulls the knife back out (which sounds as disgusting as it looks), and proceeds to stab him again, and again.
My body chooses that moment to unfreeze itself, and I approach her, needing her to stop. He’s dead; the bloodbath is over, only it isn’t. It’s just getting started. Every
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