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.
Although he's doubled over and screeching in agony, I can see his eyes. They're fixed on the knife that's hilt-deep in the snow before him. I'm positive that he's about to make a play for it. Which means, I need to shut that shit down immediately. All I need to do really, is just push him over onto his back. Maybe punch him in the gut and knock the wind out of him. I see Sydney on the phone and I assume she's calling the cops, so really, all I need to do is put him down and wait for the cavalry.
There's a part of me though, that wants to cause him pain. A lot of pain. Images of Sydney bleeding, knowing everything he's done to her, flash through my mind. The anger rises up within me like some dark, malevolent tide and I'm nearly overcome with the desire – no, the need – to hurt this man. Badly.
I want him to reach for the knife. I want him to give me the excuse. If he grabs it, and I kill him right here and now, it's a clear-cut case of self-defense. It's not like I haven't ever killed a man before. I killed plenty when I was overseas, fighting a war. What's one more body on my karmic account? Especially one who deserves it as much as this prick does.
“Pick it up,” I whisper. “Go ahead and grab it. You know you want to.”
In that moment, I imagine shoving the blade into his chest, carving out his heart. I imagine the intense release and satisfaction that will come with it. All the years of repressed anger and resentment come flooding back, filling me with bitterness and the desire to hurt this prick. I gave up so much, and for what? Because her parents hated me? Yet they like this prick?
I look up and see Sydney. She's looking back at me with wide eyes, a look of absolute fear on her face. I can tell she knows what I'm thinking, can see what I want to do, and she's willing me with her eyes not to do it.
Peter takes advantage of my distraction and makes his move. He's fast, I'll give him that. Fast, but stupid. He has the knife in his hand and drives it into my arm. It hurts like a motherfucker, but my training has taught me to compartmentalize and keep my priorities straight. My biggest priority right now is to neutralize the threat.
With Peter's knife sticking out of my arm and a persistent burning sensation of pain racking my body, I step forward and do the only thing I can think to do in that moment. I kick him in the balls. I'm wearing heavy, steel-toed boots, so I know it hurts. When my foot connects with his groin, Peter lets out a strangled sounding gasp and doubles over, clutching his injured nuts.
I reach back again and deliver a vicious kick to his face. I hear the satisfying crack of bone and see his head snap back as I make contact. Peter falls flat onto his back, completely not moving – out cold before he ever hit the ground.
With him lying there, dead to the world, I slip the knife out of my arm, releasing a flow of blood. The snow at my feet is turning red and I stand there, faced with a dilemma. I have the knife in my hand and really want to kill the motherfucker at my feet. The release I'll feel ending this piece of shit – for everything he's done to her – will be intense.
When I look up and see Sydney looking back at me though, another wave of feeling starts to tug at my conscience. Ending Peter might feel good in the moment, but what will the long-term ramifications to Sydney be? What will the long-term ramifications to “us” be?
I'm not even aware that she moved until she's standing right next to me. She gives me a small smile as she lays her hand gently on my arm. She looks up into my eyes and I can see that I don't need to kill Peter to be rid of him. He's done. He's out of her life forever. We've won.
“It's going to be okay,” she says.
I nod and give her a soft smile. “Yes,” I say. “It will be.”
It's only then that I become really aware that there are cops jumping out of their cars, their weapons drawn on me. The world around us is awash in red and blue flashing lights and voices shouting orders at me. I drop the knife and hold my hands up, admitting defeat. I'm ordered down to my knees and to put my hands behind my head. I do as instructed and a large, burly cop grabs my wrists, cuffing me tightly.
This whole scene looks bad. I can't really blame them for jumping to conclusions and thinking that I straight murdered Peter in the middle of the road. But, as they drag me to my feet, Sydney screams at them.
“It was self-defense,” she roars and points to Peter. “He's the one you need to arrest. It's him. All him. Jack was defending me.”
The cops look at the man on the ground. He's beaten to a pulp and is pitiful looking, I can't blame them for thinking I was the bad guy. They don't remove my cuffs though, and I call out to Sydney as they march me to a squad car.
“It's okay,” I say to her. “Have them take you back to my place.”
A female cop throws a blanket around Sydney's shoulders and ushers her into the back of a police car. Sydney can't stop looking at me, tears streaming down her face. Even in that state, bedraggled, dirty, and in a near panic, I can't help but think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
“I'm sorry, Jack,” she calls out.
“Don't be sorry, Syd.”
A male cop roughly shoves me in the back of a police cruiser as a pair of EMT's check on Peter. Hopefully they listen to Sydney, believe her that Peter is the aggressor here, and hopefully it's fast.
We sit in the car for a long time, and an ambulance takes Peter away, a cop riding in the back with them – a good sign. An EMT patches me up as well, telling me that I'm going to need to go to the hospital for further examination and stitches to close the wound completely. I nod absently, not really listening. The pain's faded and that's all that matters to me right now.
I look over and see a few other cops milling about, talking to Sydney, and I just sit and wait. It's our word against his, but considering everything that had happened recently, I'm pretty sure that they'll believe her. Given my own wound, they better believe her.
Still, even if they believe her, it doesn't mean I won't end up behind bars when all is said and done. If I do though, at least I know it will have all been worth it. She's free of that son of a bitch and won't have to worry about him for a long, long time.
“Can you give Sydney a message for me?” I ask the cop in the front seat. “Can you tell her to take care of my dog? He's going to be really upset if I don't come home.”
The cop chuckles to himself but doesn't answer me. Another cop knocks on the window, and the one in the front seat opens the door.
“Cut him loose,” he says. “Her story checks out.”
I let out a long sigh of relief. I've been behind bars in the past, as a juvenile, and it's no fun. While I'm willing to go to jail for assaulting Peter in order to protect Sydney, I'm really glad it's not going to come to that.
They let me out of the cruiser and remove my cuffs. Before I even know what's happening, Sydney rushes toward me, still wearing nothing but my shirt. She throws herself into my arms, and I wrap myself around her to keep her warm. She presses her lips to mine, and I feel her heart thundering in her chest.
“I love you, Sydney,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I love you too, Jack.”
I look at her for a moment, a numb shock spreading throughout my body. It's not what I expected to hear from her, but she looks up at me with her emerald eyes, and I know she remembers me. She remembers our past, all of it. Even the ugly stuff. And I know she means what she just said.
“So – you forgive me?”
“How can I not,” she laughs. “You've saved my life twice now.”
“I'd do anything for you.”
“Even break my heart, apparently,” she teases.
“I didn't want to hurt you – I felt like I didn't have a choice.”
“Shut up,” she says, slapping me in the chest. “I don't even care anymore. It was a long time ago and it's water under the bridge. We can start over. I want to start over.”
Relief washes over me as I kiss her again, holding her tighter to me, never wanting to let her go.
“But you still have some explaining to do about this Marianne chick,” she says.
“I'll tell you everything. Promise.”
“You better,” she says. “But, let's go home first. I'm freezing.”
Home. It's exactly where I want to go right now.