“I know, please, just don’t do this!” Jacqueline saw it then, the care—the love—her husband had for her. Whatever else had happened, the love was real, and he would sacrifice himself trying to save her. “You can’t win, not like this.”
Carver paced slowly back and forth, waiting, the knife still in his hand.
“I don’t need to win,” Devil told her softly, pressing their foreheads together. “Moose is on his way with Finn. If something happens to me—”
“Nothing is going to happen to you!”
Devil closed his eyes. He was so tired, the urge to lay down nearly driving him to his knees. “If something happens to me, you
fight
and you keep fighting until they get here. That’s all you have to do.”
Devil opened his eyes and stared into the face of the one woman he’d ever loved. “You’re stronger than you think,” he told her. “You survived all of this once before. Don’t give up now.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Jacqueline asked, suddenly angry. “Aren’t you giving up?”
Devil couldn’t help but smile. Only his Jac would get angry at him for trying to save her. “I’m not giving up, but I’m a realist.”
Jacqueline realized her mistake. “Devil, Devil, look at me.” Her husband had closed his eyes again, and his body was leaning heavily against her. “You can do this,” she told him. He had to go on believing he could win; otherwise the fight was already lost. “You’re stronger than he is. You always will be. You are ten times the man he could never be, and you can kill him.”
“Ah, Jac, your faith in me warms my heart,” Devil said, and heard it then, the slight slurring of his words. A concussion was most likely the cause, not a surprise considering he’d taken a pipe to the head. Gingerly, he felt the back of his head, wincing as his finger brushed over the tender skin. The bump was the size of an egg and pounded in time to his heartbeat.
“Remember what you told me,” Jacqueline said, yanking on her restraints. Pain shot down her arms as the rope cut deeper into her wrists. Ignoring the sting of pain, she turned and twisted her wrists, trying to slip them free. She wanted to hold her husband, needed to feel him in her arms.
“I told you so many things,” Devil said, his mind starting to wander. “But never the important ones, never the truth. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jacqueline said, gritting her teeth. The pain in her wrists turned white hot, but she thought she felt the slightest give in the rope. “You told me there is no cheating when it comes to defending yourself.”
Devil remembered that moment. It was the morning after they’d made love, and he’d never wanted her to be scared again.
“You do whatever it takes,” Jacqueline urged, her voice hard. “You kill him!”
Devil blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on his wife’s face. It was hard and set with determination.
“You kill him, or you kill me,” Jacqueline hissed, hoping to give him something to fight for.
Devil nodded and slowly backed away from his wife. He’d been a boxer, he reminded himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced a fight injured. This wasn’t even his first concussion. As Jac said, he could do this. What other choice did he have?
Devil turned and faced Carver. The slippery bastard still held a knife. “Do I get one of those?”
“Sorry, friend,” Carver said, smiling. “I only have the one.”
Devil looked around. They’d taken his coat and, not surprisingly, the pistol from his back. Reaching down, he checked his boot. Also empty.
Carver’s smile widened. “I know you too well.” He’d seen Devil arm himself many times.
Devil reached into his left boot. The world tilted precariously, and a wind roared in his ears. Nothing else stirred. The sound was only in his head, a side effect of the concussion.
But the blade still in his boot was real.
Devil smiled and stood up slowly. “You’re wrong if you think you know everything there is to know about me.”
Carver’s smiled slipped slightly before he caught himself and shrugged. “No one can claim this wasn’t a fair fight.”
Devil didn’t have a chance to respond. Carver came in fast and low, aiming for Devil’s gut and driving him back with the wide sweep of his blade. Devil slammed into the wall, pain shooting into his shoulder as he spun away. He tried staying on the balls of his feet, but his balance was compromised, and his movements jerky.
Carver followed Devil’s retreat. The man was clumsy, tripping over his own feet. “Who does the hard things?” he asked, quoting an old proverb. “He that can.”
Devil ignored the spinning room and focused on his opponent. Carver advanced, leading with his right foot. Devil saw and knew a jab with the knife would come next.
Carver jabbed, advanced, and jabbed again.
Devil smiled. He’d always been good at reading his opponents.
Carver continued to advance, his body angled to make for a smaller target. Devil waited for the next lunge, slipping past Carver’s guard. He felt his blade catch on Carver’s shirt as it sliced through the man’s side.
Carver hissed, scrambling back and examining his side. His shirt was cut and stained red with his blood, but the cut was shallow and the pain already beginning to fade.
Jacqueline watched the fighters, her elation at Carver’s injury turning to fear as the men engaged once again. Carver seemed to come back even more determined, while Devil still struggled under the weight of his injuries.
Reluctantly, she took her eyes off her husband and glanced up at her wrists. They spun easily, the rope slick with her blood. But each time she tried to draw them out, the rope seemed to tighten.
The rope itself had been looped over the end of the meat hook but not tied directly to it. If she could lift herself off the hook…Jacqueline looked around, her toes barely touched the floor, and she had no height left to offer herself. If she could find something to stand on, she could slip herself off the end of the hook. The bucket Stubs had brought water in lay on its side across the floor, too far away to do her any good.
Stubs.
Steeling herself, Jacqueline turned to look at the dead man. He sat sprawled on the ground, one shoulder still propped up against the wall. His legs were splayed out in front of him, his trousers riding up above his socks to reveal fish-belly pale skin covered in black hair.
Jacqueline spun her body around. The hook hung from a chain and gave her just enough slack to move half a step to either side. Reaching out with her foot, she hooked her toes over Stubs’ ankle and tried rolling it towards her.
His leg was heavier than she expected and didn’t budge. The man was nothing but dead weight.
Jacqueline adjusted her angle and tried to get more of her foot on the other side of his leg. Prepared for the weight, she stiffened her foot and pulled.
Stubs’ corpse let out a sigh.
Jacqueline jerked her foot away. Heart pounding, she waited, watching Stubs’ chest and expecting the man to mutter something or rise to his feet. Nothing happened. Once more, Jacqueline hooked her foot over his leg and pulled. Slowly, the sounds of fighting rising behind her, Jacqueline managed to move Stubs’ leg closer. Eventually, she was able to hook her foot behind his knee, pulling the body over and onto its side.
Devil shook the hair from his eyes. He was sweating profusely, his body protesting the strain. He and Carver continued to dance around each other, both men content to stay out of reach of the other’s blade. Belatedly, Devil realized that Carver could easily outlast him. If he was to have any chance at winning, he needed to do something, and soon.
Devil waited for an opening, slowing his steps and allowing Carver to get closer. Carver’s eyes lit, and Devil knew he saw the opening he’d given him. Carver jabbed, and Devil didn’t bother to try and to block him, instead bringing the hilt of his knife down on Carver’s wrist.
The sudden sting of pain in his side told Devil that Carver had found his mark, but the metallic clang of the knife striking cement also told him that Carver had lost his grip on the blade.
Devil grabbed his side, and his fingers came away wet with blood.
Carver smiled. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Devil took a step forward, prepared to end this. But he pulled up short when Carver reached behind him and slid a second blade from behind his back.
Carver’s smile widened. “You should have remembered your words to Stubs.” He’d had the twin blades replaced in preparation for his time with Jacqueline. The quality was inferior to those he’d lost to Devil, but the blades were sharp, and that was all that mattered.
Devil took a deep breath and watched as Carver tossed the knife back and forth between his hands. The man had always been good with a blade, better with two and could fight equally right- or left-handed.
This time when Carver advanced, Devil was forced back, his feet shuffling to stay under him. Carver took a swing, the blade moving from right to left and up. Fire pierced Devil’s chest as Carver’s knife cut a path from hip to shoulder.
Carver didn’t stop, shifting the direction of his blade and driving it back down.
Devil flung himself backward, narrowly missing getting stabbed in the chest. Unfortunately, the movement cost him what stability he had. The world tilted, and the ground rushed up to meet him. Devil landed on his back with a thud, the air exploding from his lungs in a
whoosh
.
“DEVIL!” Jacqueline, her feet balanced precariously on Stubs’ hip, turned just in time to see her husband fall.
Devil didn’t move.
Jacqueline stretched, sliding the rope to the end of the hook where it caught on the pointed tip. Jacqueline whimpered and stretched. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Carver circling her fallen husband, his knife tap, tap, tapping against his thigh.
“Who’s the man now?” Carver sneered, nudging Devil with the toe of his shoe.
Devil groaned, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. His eyes fluttered as he tried to focus. Carver moved in and out of sight, the man a blur of color as Devil struggled to rise.
Carver pressed his foot to Devil’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “It really is sad seeing a
man
struggle to stand.” Shifting his weight, Carver pushed Devil more firmly to the ground before removing his foot and kneeling beside him.
Urgency gripped Jacqueline as she watched Carver kneel beside the still form of her husband. She had to get to him. Carefully, she stretched, moving from the balls of her feet to her toes. Beneath her, the soft body of Stubs shifted and she started to fall. Throwing herself forward, she went with the motion and prayed.
The rope slipped off the end of the meat hook, and Jacqueline fell to the floor. Pain exploded in her knees and shot up her thighs. She scrambled back to Stubs’ body, pulling him over onto his back. One arm flopped to the side, the back of his hand smacking the concrete with a sickening sound. Eyeing the knife still protruding from his chest, Jacqueline didn’t allow herself time to think. She wrapped bloody fingers around the hilt and yanked it free.
Carver leaned forward, making sure to fill Devil’s vision. “We both love her, you know. Each in our own way.”
Devil flinched as cold fingers caressed his cheek.
“She will go to her grave your wife, but wearing my mark. She will bind us together forever.” Carver raised his arm, the blade pointed down and aimed at Devil’s heart. It seemed almost a shame. He’d never had such a worthy opponent before.
Jacqueline threw herself at Carver’s back. Fisting her hand in his hair, she yanked his head back and exposed his neck. “I may wear your mark, but the only one I belong to is him.”
Carver froze.
Devil forced his eyes opened in time to see his wife press a bloody knife to Carver’s throat. “Jac—”
Devil’s voice was hoarse with pain, but Jacqueline didn’t take her eyes off Carver. She clutched the knife, her hands slick with blood and sweaty with fear. Her arms trembled from being held over her head for so long, and her stomach turned. Her mind rebelled at the idea of being this close to Carver, and everywhere they touched, her skin crawled. “Drop the knife, or I’ll cut your throat.”
“Jac, get out of here.” Devil eyed his wife over Carver’s shoulder. She should have run.
“You won’t do it,” Carver said, struggling to swallow. The fingers in his hair tightened, and his head was yanked back even further. He could feel the cords in his neck bulging under the strain. They walked the line between life and death together, but he felt no fear. If she killed him, it would only prove just how much she belonged to him. But she wouldn’t do it, and he told her so. “You’re not a killer. I should know.”
Jacqueline pressed her face closer, her lips brushing the tender skin of Carver’s earlobe. “Now who does the hard thing?” she asked, her voice soft and lover-like. “
She
that can.”
Jacqueline jerked the knife back, tearing the blade across Carver’s throat.
Devil watched a thin line of blood appear as Carver’s neck opened up, obscuring the old scar. At the last moment, he closed his eyes just as steamy hot blood spattered across his face. His wife had hit the artery.
Jacqueline stumbled backward as Carver jerked out of her arms. He turned to her, his eyes wide with shock. Both hands wrapped around his neck in a fruitless effort to stop the bleeding. Blood gushed through his fingers, soaking the front of his shirt.
Carver blinked, his mouth working soundlessly, and reached for Devil’s wife. Jacqueline lunged and drove the blade still in her hand into his chest.
The two of them knelt face to face as Carver slowly collapsed in Jacqueline’s arms. She held him there, eyes locked, watching him die. Her skin no longer crawled, the heat of his life’s blood warming her like nothing else could.
Devil groaned as he rolled over onto his side. Slowly, painfully, he got to his hands and knees and crawled to where his wife still knelt, locked in death’s embrace. “Let go, Jac.”