CHAPTER NINE
CHASE
I felt like I'd been kicked in the balls at the same time as all the air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. My head was spinning and everything felt completely surreal. As I stood there looking at the pregnancy test kits in her bag, nothing even felt real to me.
I wasn't ready to be a father. Truth be told, I didn't think I ever wanted to be a father. I was so fucked up as a person, subjecting a kid to me would be cruel. More than that, it would be wrong. If Abby turned out to be pregnant, I had no idea what I was going to do or what was going to happen.
But, she was right. No sense in putting the cart before the horse. Until we knew for sure that she was pregnant, getting all worked up about it wasn't going to do anybody any good.
I put my arm around her shoulder and started to steer her back toward the house. Part of me wanted to just sit and have a cup of coffee with her and talk about mundane things. She and I had a real connection. It was strong and it was deep. In a lot of ways, being with her felt like a puzzle piece in my soul had been snapped into place – a piece I never even knew I was missing.
I'd tried to resist Abby for as long as I could. In the end, though, my will to keep her out had simply vanished. I craved her in ways I hadn't craved anybody before – and I only wanted more.
As we walked across the driveway toward the house, the sound of the tarps in the back of my truck rustling drew my attention. I looked around and noticed that there wasn't a breath of wind stirring. The next thing I saw was somebody – a man – jumping out of the bed of the truck. A man who'd obviously been hiding back there and who was holding a Glock 9mm, the barrel pointed directly at us.
I quickly stepped forward, putting myself between the gunman and Abby. He was tall, easily a bit over six feet, had broad shoulders, dark hair, and gray eyes. His skin was sallow and pale, dark circles ringed his eyes, and he had a nearly crazed look about him.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You're Paul.”
I felt Abby stiffen behind me and felt her hands clutching the back of my shirt. She let out a small squeak and I heard her breath catch in her throat. She was terrified – and, obviously, with good reason.
“And you must be the asshole she's fucking,” he sneered. “The asshole she's cheating on me with.”
“Last I heard, you two were broken up,” I said.
He took a couple of steps toward us, the gun thrust out in front of him, a malignant gleam in his eyes. His face was etched with rage. Etched with hate. I had no trouble believing he'd pull that trigger in a heartbeat. Which was why I knew I needed to keep him talking. Keep him distracted – at least, until I could work the situation to my advantage and disarm him.
More than anything though, I needed to keep him away from Abby. I needed to keep his focus off her completely, if possible. I'd take the rage and the hate. Hell, I'd take a bullet if it meant keeping her safe.
“You heard wrong, cocksucker,” he said.
I shrugged. “I think beating a woman the way you beat Abby kind of means you're not allowed to tell her what she is and isn't going to do anymore,” I say. “You kind of surrendered the moral high ground there, Paul.”
“Fuck you,” he sneered.
“Not to mention the fact that you look like a big, strappin' kind of guy,” I said. “Which means, you beating on a little thing like Abby pretty much makes you not only a coward but an absolute pussy to boot.”
He raised the gun so it was pointed directly at my head. I saw his knuckle whitening on the trigger. But, I'd been in some nasty places while I served, dealt with nastier people than this prick. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was so wrong it wasn't even funny.
“Let's see how much shit you talk with a bullet in your face,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
“Probably not a lot, to be honest,” I replied.
“Abby,” Paul said. “Come on. We're going.”
She clutched my shirt tighter and buried her face in my back. Her body trembled and the sound of choked sobs escaped her.
“I don't think she wants to go with you, Paul.”
“Fuck you,” he snapped. “Shut your fucking mouth. This doesn't concern you.”
“Actually, it does concern me,” I said. “There's a chance that Abby is carrying my child, and – ”
“Shut the fuck up. I heard already,” he snapped at me. “I also heard you say you're not ready to be a dad. That you're some boo-hoo, broken man who shouldn't be exposed to kids. What a candy ass. Suck it up, we've all got problems, shithead.”
The anger welling within me was dark and abiding. I narrowed my eyes and felt my jaw clench. Paul was pushing me. If he pushed me too far, it was going to be bad for him. Very bad. Yeah, he might be the one holding the gun, but he wasn't the one trained in hand-to-hand combat. Once I baited him into the right position, I could use it to my advantage and disarm him.
I just needed to be patient and keep goading him until I had him where I wanted him.
“Yeah, I'm damaged,” I say. “I'm not going to lie to you. And I don't know how I'd be with a kid, to be honest. Truthfully, the mere thought of having a kid scares the piss out of me.”
“Which is why I'm taking Abby out of here. Away from you,” he said. “And then she and I will set up our own family – well away from here, and well away from you.”
“Afraid I can't let you do that, Paul,” I said. “Whether or not I'm ready for it, or if I even want it, if that child is mine, then I've got no choice but to take care of her. And my child. That's my responsibility.”
“Get out of my way,” he hissed. “Abby, let's go.”
She pressed her body tightly against mine, still wracked with sobs, her breathing ragged, and her voice choked with tears.
“Please don't let him take me,” she whispered so softly, he couldn't hear her.
“I have no intention of letting him,” I whispered back.
“Abby,” Paul shouted, the impatience and rage in his voice coming out thick and harsh. “Let's fucking go. Right now.”
“I don't want to go anywhere with you, Paul.”
“Doesn't matter what you want,” he said. “Not anymore. You lost that privilege. Now, get your ass out here so we can go.”
“She's not going anywhere with you, man,” I said, my voice carrying a harder edge to it.
“Oh, you think you're a tough guy,” he snapped, waving the gun at me.
“Tougher than you,” I said. “I don't need a gun to threaten somebody. And I sure as hell don't beat on a woman.”
It was then that Paul made the mistake I'd been waiting for him to make. I knew, as fucked up in the head as he was, that he didn't actually want to kill me. He was a fake tough guy and holding a gun gave him a sense of power he didn't otherwise have. But, I also knew that if he were going to shoot me, he would have done it by now. When he waved his gun around and spoke like a tough guy, he expected people to fall all over themselves to comply with his wishes. To do whatever it is he asked out of a reasonable fear for their lives.
Except – that didn't work on me. I wasn’t so easily intimidated.
Paul stepped forward and pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead and I gave him a little smirk. I had him exactly where I wanted him. He saw the smirk and I watched as his face went slack. He knew that he'd lost the advantage and he was now in a position where he had to either pull the trigger and end me, or suffer the consequences of the shitstorm I was about to rain down on him.
His finger on the trigger, he hesitated. I gave him a full five seconds to make up his mind, and he stood there with his finger on the trigger, a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and a river of piss running down his leg.
Nobody could ever say I didn't give him a chance. But, now it was too late. It was my turn.
My hand moving faster than a coiled rattlesnake, it shot upward and I grabbed hold of his wrist and bent it backward. Paul howled in outrage and his finger squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot was like a cannon going off in my ear, but the bullets fired off into the atmosphere. Harmless.
I gave the wrist a vicious tweak and Paul dropped his gun, where it hit the ground with a dull clatter. Stepping forward, I drove my fist into Paul's stomach. The air whooshed from his lungs and he doubled over, clutching his midsection, groaning miserably.
I turned and pushed Abby toward the house. She didn't move but stared into my eyes. She grabbed my hand and tried to pull me along with her, but I broke free from her grasp. I needed to finish this with Paul, once and for all.
“Go,” I shouted. “Lock yourself in, Abby. Go!”
I watched her scramble for the house, her normally fair complexion suddenly looking a few shades paler, and outright terror etched into her features. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she climbed the steps to the house and turned around to look at me.
“Get inside,” I waved to her. “Lock yourself in. Now!”
Abby ran inside, the slamming of the door echoing hollowly around the yard. Good. She was safe for now. The sound of the man's grunts drew my attention. I spun around and saw him scrambling for the gun. Knowing he'd get to it before I could if I reached for it, I did the only thing I could – I stepped forward and kicked it. The toe of my boot connected with it and I sent it flying across the yard. It landed somewhere in the shadows underneath the truck.
I would have preferred to have it in my hand. I could have brought this madness to a close quickly. But, at least I knew Paul wasn't going to get his hands on it. Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
“I'm going to kill you,” Paul wheezed. “You stole my family from me.”
“I didn't steal shit, asshole,” I snapped at him. “You lost them all on your own.”
He lunged at me, the quickness of his movement catching me off guard. He swung his fists at me wildly, an animalistic growl escaping his throat. My head rocked to the right when he got a glancing blow on my chin. It stung, but it wasn't too bad. I'd had worse.
He spun on his heel and brought his fists up again. I drove my own fist forward, putting as much power behind it as I could. The sound of the bone cracking registered in my ear, before the shockwave of impact traveled up my arm. Paul grunted and stumbled backward, his hands over his nose. His eyes were wide and tearing, and blood seeped out from between his fingers. I'd probably busted his nose.
He rushed toward me like an enraged bull, blood pouring down his face, giving him a ghastly visage. I stepped to the side, expecting him to stumble by me, but he showed some surprising agility, stopping and spinning back toward me on a dime.
The sunlight overhead glinted off something metallic that suddenly appeared in his hand. I'd only had a moment to register it, before it was swinging at me in a murderous arc. The blade of his knife cut through the air, and I tried to dance backward, out of range. But, because I hadn't been ready for it, the tip of the blade sliced through my upper arm, forcing me to suck in a sharp breath.
Blood flowed down my arm, soaking my shirt and spilled onto the ground. It wasn't too bad. Superficial, really. I took a few steps back, trying to get – and stay – out of his range for now.
I smirked at him. “I've cut myself worse shaving.”
“I'm going to kill you,” he said.
“Yeah, so you keep telling me,” I replied. “Bring it, then.”
Paul came charging at me again, his lips pulled back into a snarl, his arm cocked back, ready to deliver another slash with his blade. I was ready for it this time. As he drew close, I stepped to the side and spun on my heel, which made him miss me wildly. I followed up by delivering a massive punch to the kidneys.
Paul grunted, doubling over as I knocked the wind out of him for the second time. Stepping forward, I had intended to deliver a knockout punch, when he spun quickly around, coming up out of his crouch, a fiendish smile on his face. I caught the light glinting off the blade a moment too late and before I knew it, the damn knife was buried, hilt deep, in my side.
I felt the blade slice into me and a few moments later, I felt the blood begin to flow from the wound in a raging torrent. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I couldn't let him win. Couldn't leave Abby like that – not with him lurking around out here, ready to kill her.
But, I also knew that if I pulled the knife out, I could be risking death. I could bleed out right there in the driveway. I grunted and stepped back a few paces, keeping my distance from him. I needed to collect myself – which was hard to do. My side felt like it was on fire, electrical pulses of pain shooting along my every nerve ending.
As bad as it was though, I'd felt worse – and if there was one thing the pain was doing, it was making me focus. Making me sharp. Paul grinned and slipped another knife out of a second sheath in his boot. It was smaller, but the blade looked just as sharp and I knew if I didn't put him down and end this quickly, it might not end the way I wanted it to.
If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I needed to put Paul down. I needed to keep him away from Abby and protect her at all costs.
I staggered forward, grimacing and grunting in pain. I fell to my knees and doubled over, clutching my wounded side. As I howled in pain, I slipped the knife out of the sheath I had on my belt and waited, grunting in pain, working hard to sell it. I was playing it up and really overacting, hoping that Paul would take the bait.
He did.
Believing I was injured too badly to be a threat, Paul strode toward me, a look of malignant delight on his face. He loomed over me, his face etched with a manic sort of glee. The blade was still clutched in his hand, but he hesitated once more. This time, he hesitated not out of fear of killing me – I thought he'd somehow quickly gotten past that – but to savor the moment. He'd defeated me. He was the conqueror. Victory was his – and to the victor went the spoils. In this case, the spoils of victory was Abby.
I took the opening he gave me and, without hesitation, drove my blade into his gut. His eyes widened and he looked at me and then down at the knife protruding from his belly. Blood blossomed around the blade and begin to roll down his shirt. His own blade fell to the ground with a hard thud and he stared at the blade like he didn't know what it was or how it got there.
I got to my feet, a victorious little smile tugging at the corner of my own mouth. Grabbing Paul by the hair, I lifted his head, forcing him to look me in the eye. When he did, I saw panic on his face. Terror. I saw a man who did not want to die.
“Let me just tell you now, if you ever, and I do mean ever, come near Abby again,” I said, my voice colder than Minnesota in winter, “you are going to pay a hefty price for it.”
“Fuck you,” he managed to croak.
I pulled my arm back and then unleashed it, driving it straight into his face. He was out cold before he even hit the ground. I staggered backward, the pain starting to overwhelm me. I fell to my knees and tried to hold on to consciousness. I fell backward, onto the driveway, and stared up at the sky. I watched big, fluffy clouds floating by.
Then Abby's face entered my field of vision, and the sound of sirens shattered the still air around us, growing louder by the moment – she'd called the cops. Hopefully, she'd had the foresight to call an ambulance to go along with it.
“You're safe now, Abby,” I said. “You're safe.”
Tears rolled down her face, splashing upon my skin. She looked at me with fear and grief in her eyes. I guess my wound was worse than I thought if she looked like I already had a foot in the grave. She laid my head in her lap and leaned down, kissing me on the forehead.
“You're going to be fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “You're going to be just fine. You'll see. You have to be, because we have a conversation that must be had. You have to be fine.”
“Abby, it's okay – ”
“Ssshhh,” she said. “Don't speak. It's going to be okay. You'll be okay.”
My vision began to waver and grow dark at the edges. The sirens grew impossibly loud, and just as the sky around me started to pulse with the red and blue lights of the sirens, the darkness overwhelmed me. It claimed me, pulled me under, and I knew no more.