Jack backs off and wipes the blood from his face. His eyes are narrow and a look of dark anger colors his features. He barely resembles the kind and compassionate man who's been caring for me all this time. He looks so angry and so fierce, his expression almost animalistic, and I don't even recognize him.
Peter gets up and rushes him again, but Jack is ready. Slipping to the side, Jack delivers a hard shot to Peter's face that sends him staggering to the side. He drops to a knee and pauses there, as if catching his breath. Blood runs down his face, coloring the snow beneath him red.
He looks up at me and gives me a predatory little grin. Peter is not a man who likes to lose, and I know he's got something up his sleeve – something that is bad news for Jack. Panicking, and wanting to stop it all before something bad happens, I search for my phone and find it sitting on the seat of the car. I hurry and dial 9-1-1 just as Peter pulls something from his pocket.
A knife. I watch in horror, seeing the cold sunlight of the afternoon glinting off the wickedly sharp looking blade.
No, please God, no...
Peter rushes forward, his knife at the ready, but Jack is prepared for it. He steps to the side and grabs the hand with the knife, twisting it away from Peter's body. Jack pulls him close and it looks like the two of them are talking.
Whatever was exchanged between them is brief though, and a moment later, I hear the crack of bone as Jack twists the wrist viciously, and Peter lets out a howl of sheer agony just as the 9-1-1 operator picks up. I stand there, completely numb for a moment as I watch Jack release Peter's wrist.
Peter doubles over, crying out in pain, cradling his injured wrist in one hand, the knife lying in the snow at his feet. Peter's movement is lightning fast – so fast I barely see it happening. With his good hand, he grabs the knife from the snow and buries it hilt-deep into Jack's forearm. I scream as I watch the scene unfolding before me.
Jack grimaces but doesn't cry out. Instead, he lashes out with his foot, kicking Peter in the balls. Peter doubles over and Jack delivers a vicious kick to Peter's face. The man's head snaps back and he falls flat on his ass. He's lying on his back, his face turned up to the sky. He's out cold.
Peter pulls the knife from his arm and I see the blood flowing, see the ground beneath him turning a vivid shade of scarlet and my heart races. He's hurt and needs help. Jack stands over Peter's unconscious form, the knife in his hand, looking down at the man.
In that moment, I see the Marine, the man fighting a war, not the man I loved so deeply so long ago. His eyes are wild, his expression animalistic. I can tell that he's thinking about killing Peter right then and there. He's got self-defense in the bag, given his wound. He can kill Peter and walk away.
“Jack, no,” I say.
He glances up at me and the look in his eye chills me to my very core. It's so foreign. So – cold. Like a shark in the ocean, Jack smells blood, and he wants to finish the job he's set out to do.
“9-1-1 response, what is your emergency?” the voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Hello? Are you there? Do you require help?”
I slowly come back to myself and realize where I am and what's happening. I press the phone to my ear a little harder and explain that we need the police.
“Where are you located?” the operator asks.
Hell if I know. I look around for a sign, any sign, and then finally see one. A street sign. I read it off to her and tell her there's a grocery store directly in front of us.
“Please, hurry,” I say and look at Peter's prone body, stifling the urge to laugh – I'm not quite sure how that'll be taken. “We need medical assistance.”
Jack and I stand there looking at one another and I can see he's torn. I can see part of him wants to kill Peter for everything he's done to me and the other part of him wants to spare me the sight of it. With sirens wailing in the distance and drawing ever closer, I walk over to Jack and lay my hand on his arm.
He looks at me and I can see the darkness and anger in his eyes starting to clear. It takes a few moments, but by the time the police cars and the ambulance come to a halt near us, the deputies jumping out of the cars with their guns raised, Jack the Marine is gone again, replaced by the Jack I've gotten to know over this last week or so – a man I can definitely see myself falling for. Hard.
“It's going to be okay,” I say.
He nods. “Yes,” he says. “It will be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK
I couldn't just sit there and watch Sydney drive away with that man. Sure, his story sounded good. Plausible. Reasonable, even. But, something about it – and about him – isn't right. I know, deep down, that he's dangerous. It's more than jealousy, I can feel it, and am just as sure of that fact as I am that Sydney is in danger.
Which is why I followed them. I'm not going to let Sydney get away again. I promised that I was going to protect her and I'm going to keep that promise at all costs.
Peter is a decent, but sloppy fighter. He's got a heavy punch, but he's undisciplined. And when he's riled up, he's prone to making really dumb mistakes and putting himself in positions where he's going to get fucked up. Positions that, if he were in the military, would only end in his death.
Moron.
We're both bloodied and breathing heavy, but I've still got plenty left in the tank. I can go a few more rounds with him. No, the ice on the ground isn't making it any easier, but I've got pretty steady footing and I can keep dancing a lot longer than this walking, talking, sack of shit.
I expect him to cheat – that just seems to be his way – so, I'm not entirely surprised when he pulls a knife out of his pocket. I don't have a weapon on me. Don't need one. And if Peter thinks he can intimidate me with a blade, he's about to learn that I don't scare all that easy.
My only regret is that Sydney is watching. She doesn't need to see this. She shouldn't be seeing this. But, it's Peter who forced the action and I'm going to protect her at all costs. I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do after the fact, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Right now, I have to neutralize the threat in front of me. And that threat is Peter.
He growls as he rushes me, swinging his blade wildly. Fucking idiot. It's child's play to disarm him. As I sidestep him, and he goes rushing by, trying to keep himself from slipping, I grab his wrist and twist it painfully. The knife falls to the ground, embedding itself in a small drift of snow as Peter howls in pain. I keep twisting and hold his hand away from his body, speaking to him in a low voice so Sydney doesn't overhear. Like I said, she doesn't need to be a party to this.
“You have one of two choices,” I growl. “Get in the fucking limo and leave, never bothering Sydney again – ”
“Fuck you,” Peter spits in my face.
“Okay,” I say, a cruel little grin touching my lips. “I guess that means you take choice number two.”
I grip his arm and put pressure right on the elbow. I see his eyes widen when he realizes what I'm doing. With one sharp movement, the bone cracks, the sound shattering the still afternoon like a gunshot. Peter screams, his voice echoing down the street and down through the valley.
I let go of his arm, and Peter doubles over, crying out in agony as he clutches his busted wing. If I'm being honest with myself – and I always try to be – I'll admit that it feels good to see him in pain. After seeing Sydney nearly bleeding out on the street, I want the same fate for Peter. I want him to hurt the way she did.