Chapter Seventeen
Cheshire
Holmes was close now. I could feel him. My blood hummed with the promise of the clash, every bruise and drop of sweat bringing me closer to the bastard who thought he could take what was mine. My brothers fought beside me, just as they always had.
“Cheshire!” The call ripped through space. “I’d thought for sure you’d die before you got this far.”
“Here I come, Sheriff,” I growled under my breath, my grin sharp, teeth flashing.
This was it. The final battle. And I wouldn’t let him slip away again.
The air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. There he stood, Sheriff Holmes, his stance wide and the glint of madness in his eyes. I stepped closer, boots scraping against the debris.
We squared off, two predators circling. The room faded away, leaving just him and me locked in a silent war of wills. I knew his type -- no rules, no honor. Just raw, desperate power. My muscles tensed, ready for whatever dirty trick he’d pull. Men like him never fought fair.
Then, like a viper, he struck -- a wild haymaker swing aimed at my head. I could almost feel the whoosh of air as I ducked low, the punch missing by a hairsbreadth. Adrenaline surged through me, hot and electric, as I danced back.
“Nice try,” I sneered. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Holmes’ face twisted into a snarl, and I braced myself. However long this took, I knew one thing for certain. Only one of us was walking out of here alive.
Holmes recoiled from his miss, and I saw my in. No time for fancy moves -- this was street fighting, dirty and quick. I jabbed at his gut, his ribs -- anywhere soft, trying to do the most damage as quickly as possible. Each thud of knuckle against flesh was a promise, a silent vow that I’d end this.
“Ugh!” he grunted as I worked him over, relishing the sharp exhale of his pained breaths. His arms flailed, trying to guard his battered body, but I kept slipping through every crack in his defense.
“Is that all you got, Sheriff?” I taunted.
But pride’s a dangerous thing. It blinds. And Holmes’ booted foot came out of nowhere. It caught me square in the chest, the impact stealing my breath and sending me flying. Wood splintered as I crashed into some crates. The sound echoed throughout the room.
Pain exploded in my back, a thousand needles of wood piercing skin and muscle. Dust clouds rose around me. The air was thick with the scent of rot and old wood. I gasped, coughing, and feeling so much pain, I knew I’d have a deep and dark bruise later. But I couldn’t stay down, not with Eliza’s life on the line, not with victory so damn close.
“Come on, Cheshire,” I muttered to myself, pushing through the pain. “Show this bastard what happens when you corner a cat.”
I rolled to my side, spitting out the grit that had lodged in my mouth. My vision swam as I pushed up on shaky arms, every muscle screaming in protest. There was no time for pain, no space for weakness. Not here, not now.
Using the debris for leverage, I managed to haul myself upright. My fingers brushed against cold metal -- a pipe, abandoned and perfect. Grasping it like a lifeline, I surged to my feet, the weight of it oddly comforting in my grip.
Holmes was already stalking toward me. He didn’t expect the arc of steel that whistled through the air toward him. With reflexes honed by dirty dealings and darker nights, he threw up an arm. The pipe met his forearm with a sickening crunch . For a second, pain flickered across his face.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” I snarled.
He grunted, shaking off the hit like it was nothing. But I saw the wince, the slight falter. It was enough.
We clashed again, bodies colliding. His fist skimmed my jaw -- too close. I countered with a hook to his ribs that made him stagger back. I felt something give beneath my knuckles, and a twisted part of me smirked.
“Nice try, boy,” Holmes spat, wiping blood from his lip.
“Boy?” I echoed, a laugh ripping from my throat. “That all you got, old man?”
Our dance was brutal, each step a strike meant to break bones or wills -- whichever gave out first. I ducked a wild swing, coming back with an uppercut. He blocked, then launched a kick aimed at my knee. I sidestepped, but the move cost me. Pain shot up my leg, a sharp reminder of the impact with those damned crates.
“Can’t keep up?” Holmes ground out, reading my stumble all wrong.
“Keep dreaming,” I threw back, teeth gritted.
This was survival, raw and unfiltered. Each hit was a testament to the hatred that had been brewing. Every punch I landed chipped away at the monster before me, a monster draped in the garb of a lawman.
I could feel the tide turning, each exchange of violence bringing me closer to ending this nightmare. Eliza’s face flashed before my eyes with every strike, her silent plea fueling my resolve. I wouldn’t -- I couldn’t -- let her down.
Not tonight. Not ever.
My lungs were burning, every breath a ragged drag. Sweat stung my eyes, but I couldn’t afford to blink. Not with Holmes in front of me, every line of his body screaming murder.
“Getting tired, Cheshire?” His voice was a gravelly sneer as he circled me like a vulture.
“Something like that.” My legs felt like jelly. Despite my exhaustion, I could keep going. But I had to make him believe he was winning.
Holmes’ lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he lunged, fist barreling toward my face. It was now or never.
I dodged -- barely -- a whisper away from disaster. My adrenaline surged. Time slowed down, just enough. I pivoted, coiling power up from my toes, and let loose an uppercut that had every ounce of my strength behind it.
It connected. The crunch was sickeningly sweet.
Holmes’ body crumpled, hitting the ground with a thud that echoed off the walls. Dust billowed around him.
My chest heaved as I watched him. But the bastard wouldn’t stay down. Blood was smeared across his face, mixing with the dirt on the floor, yet he pushed himself up. His eyes locked onto mine, wild and unhinged.
“You… you won’t win,” he snarled, staggering to his feet, coming at me again.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I shot back, readying for another round. I could have ended this easily. One shot to the head, but I felt like I needed to give him as much as he’d given Eliza over the years. A quick, clean death was too good for the likes of him.
Holmes lunged like a rabid dog, all froth and fury. I sidestepped.
“Come on, you son of a bitch,” I said under my breath.
He came at me again, fists swinging wild. I ducked, felt the whoosh of air as his punch missed by an inch. Then I struck. Left jab to the gut. Right hook to the ribs. His breath hitched, his body buckling.
“This.” Crack . My knuckles met his ribs again. “Is.” Crack . My fist smashed into his face. “For.” Another hit to his abdomen. “Eliza!”
I let loose with a barrage of punches, not letting up until I thought I might drop.
Holmes staggered, but his eyes still burned with that same damn madness. He spat blood, his grin a crimson smear. How the fuck was this asshole still standing?
“Fight’s just starting, old man,” I taunted, although, I had to admit I was slowing down.
I hit him again and again. Landing blow after blow.
“Is that all you’ve got?” His breath came out in a wheeze.
“More than enough for you,” I shot back.
I watched him sway, read the defeat in his posture. Now. This was it. One last move.
With everything I had left, I punched, my fist connecting with his nose in a sickening crack . The sheriff’s head snapped back, a spray of spit and blood painting the walls and floor.
Holmes hit the ground hard, a sack of meat and bone. He didn’t get up. Not this time. His chest rose and fell -- too slow, too shallow -- but he was out. Finally.
I stood over him, breath ragged, heart slamming against ribs. It was done. For Eliza. For all those he’d harmed. The bastard wouldn’t be terrorizing anyone else.
“Cheshire wins!” I panted, barely able to remain standing, but I’d managed to take the asshole down. Now I needed to make sure he stayed down.
Taking out my gun, I put two rounds in his chest and one between his eyes. There was no way he was coming back from that.
The silence that followed was heavy. It bore down on me. I turned away from the wreck of a man at my feet, and knew it was time to get Eliza.
Blood -- mine or his, I couldn’t tell -- dripped from my knuckles. The room spun in a dizzying haze of adrenaline and pain.
“Cheshire…” Eliza? I turned to her, my legs shaky as a newborn foal. She rushed toward me, her eyes wide pools of fear and relief.
“Eliza,” I managed, my voice barely above a grunt as I tried to catch my breath.
She reached out, her hands trembling as they touched my sweat-soaked skin. Grim satisfaction curled in my gut. We were alive. We’d won.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her gaze scanning the cuts and bruises that painted my face and every inch of exposed skin.
“Anything for you,” I said, meaning every damn word.
I yanked Eliza close, my arms a cage around her slight frame. Her body melded into mine, a perfect fit against all the broken pieces.
“Safe,” I murmured into her hair, a promise scrawled in sweat and blood. “You’re safe now.”
“Charlie…”
“Shh, I’ve got you.” I felt her tears soak my shirt. I should have protected her better. Made sure her father could never touch her. I may have failed before, but this time I’d made certain he’d never hurt anyone ever again.
The world shrank down to the space we occupied, her and me, wrapped tight in the aftermath. Dust motes danced in the air, twirling in the dim light filtering through shattered windows.
“Cheshire.” She clung to me, repeating my name as if it were some sort of prayer.
“Eliza, it’s over.” Her fingers clutched at my cut. “Love you more than anything. I would go to war for you anytime, anyplace.”
“Love you too, Charlie. So much.” Her grip tightened, as if she worried I’d disappear if she let go.
We swayed together, a silent dance in the ruins. Our breaths mingled, and the relentless beat of my heart slowed, matching hers. I finally had her back in my arms, right where she belonged. And I’d be damned if I’d let anyone take her from me again.
I peeled myself away from Eliza, the cold air biting at the sweat on my brow.
Hatter’s boots crunched against debris. “Cheshire,” he said, his voice low. “We need to move. I hear sirens heading this way. We’ve already freed the other women and girls.”
“Right.” I took Eliza’s hand and led her through the wreckage and bodies.
March was already by the door. Rabbit and Carpenter flanked him, their faces set in grim lines. They all bore the marks of the night, bruises blooming like dark flowers against their skin.
“Let’s clear out,” March said, his words curt and clipped.
The weight of what had happened pressed down on us. Blood pooled on the floor, sticky underfoot. I wasn’t sure how we were going to keep this from coming back to bite us on the ass.
“Come on,” I said, tugging her along. The others moved ahead, shapes melting into the shadows.
“Where to?” she whispered.
“Anywhere but here,” I replied.
“Okay.” The simple word carried the weight of trust. She didn’t need a location as long as she was with me.
Our story wasn’t over, just paused on the precipice of a new chapter, ink about to spill across a fresh page. We’d survived the fight with her father, but we still had to take down the mayor and Robert Lewis before the entire fiasco would be over and done. But we’d taken a huge step tonight.
I helped Eliza onto my bike, and with Hatter taking the lead, we made our way back home.