Page 123 of Burning for You
“Just go, Jeans!” Jesse shouts.
I lope toward a slab of concrete in the corner of the room; it doesn’t look fixed, and with the quietness in this room, I can hear the wind whistling. With a hard push, the slab moves, revealing a further tunnel which I’m sure leads to where Carolyn is.
As soon as the rolling door shuts behind me, gunshots blare. I freeze, one leg ready to get to wherever Carolyn is, but the other persists in returning to Jesse.
Silence falls.
Who’s alive in that room?
Is anyone alive in that room?
I press my shoulder against the slab, slowly pushing it. But it opens faster than I anticipate, because someone on the other side is pulling it. Soon a hand yanks my arm, holds it against the doorway and slams the concrete mass, crushing my forearm.
I let out a scream. My grip is hampered, my fingers stretch, and I lose my gun.
The impact has gotten the fleshy part of my arm, but it goddamn hurts. Sure enough, Josh Bright makes the most of the situation. He hauls me back into the library while punishing my gut with a barrage of punches. They’re no ordinary punches—that fist is decorated with a set of brass knuckles.
Rolling on the floor, clutching my stomach, I try to locate Jesse. But he’s not here. What the hell has Josh done to my brother?
“Get up, lover boy!” Josh commands.
The pain is enormous. I drop back to the floor as soon as I try to stand up.
“You wanted me to remember you, Holt boy, so here I am. Remembering you with everything I’ve got.”
“Where’s Carolyn?”
“Oh, Teller is having fun with her.”
Parts of me that haven’t been injured are now aching. Meanwhile, Josh rubs the brass knuckles, as if polishing them. He then takes the gun out of his belt.
“I’m a fair fighter,” he says, unloading his gun and then mine. “Man to man. Come on.”
I look at his brass knuckles.
“Huh… you’re afraid of these?” he mocks. “Alright, bare hands it is.” He takes them off. “Are you fighting for your bitch? Or for your dead brother?”
Hearing that, I leap out of my coiling position, charging Josh. Once more the man hits me in the stomach. Even without those metal knuckles, he still hurts me. But my stake is higher than just pride. I swallow all the pain and retaliate. I hit the man in the sternum.
Josh staggers back.
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he says.
Trying to repeat his attack, I manage to evade him. Joshua Bright doesn’t seem to have that many brilliant moves. His swings are becoming monotonous.
Once more I repel his attack, and this time my fist lands on the side of his pumpkin face. And I keep attacking.
Until Josh catches my arm, the one he crushed with the concrete door. The pain halts my movement. He takes the opportunity to twist my body, and then put a stronghold on my neck from behind me, with both arms. My face swells from the compression. My mouth releases ragged gasps as it fails to draw air. My elbows keep pounding against my opponent’s chest, trying to impose any kind of pain on him, but I’m only wasting energy.
Joshua Bright has all his weapons today—his handgun, his brass knuckles, and his bloated ego.
But where is his army knife?
As the man enjoys watching death crawl across my flushed cheeks, my arm meanders around his waist, scrabbling to find anything concealed. The weapon that is on my mind might just be the one hanging on Josh Bright’s belt. I grapple what feels like a knife handle, and then pull the object out of its sheath.
I use my last half-breath to thrust the weapon into the man’s back. He contorts and momentarily tightens his grip on me, but then the chokehold eases as he careens backward, foolishly trying to reach for the knife lodged behind his right lung.
I keep him standing, holding on to the knife handle as I watch the life leaving his eyes. I hope he’s going to a very dark place for what he’s done to Carolyn, to me, to us.