Chapter 34 #2
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. John Simmons was my sister’s husband’s brother. I killed the fucker, but his death wasn’t as gruesome as he deserved.
“He was everything,” Shelby continues, voice pitching higher. “Everything to me. And you took him from me like he was nothing. Just collateral damage in your precious family drama.”
“He got less than what he fucking deserved,” I sneer.
“You Knights think you own this city, that you can take whatever you want without consequences. Well, here’s your consequence, Jack.” She gestures at Eve with the handle of the whip. “How does it feel to destroy what you love? To be too late to save her?”
Something breaks loose inside me—hot and toxic and hungry for blood. Before I can move, Shelby’s arm snaps forward. Metal glints in the dim light—a knife, spinning end over end toward my chest.
I twist sideways, the blade slicing air where my heart beat a moment before. It clatters against the concrete behind me. I look at the gun still in my hand. Instead of using it again, I throw it to the side. I want to feel Shelby break under my hands for what she’s done to Eve.
As I kick the gun away, I watch Shelby’s eyes widen at the deliberate choice. “You made it personal,” I growl. “Let’s fucking go, bitch.”
I quickly bend, scooping up the knife she threw, the handle still warm from her grip. The blade catches light as I straighten, edge gleaming with promise.
Shelby’s mouth twists in a feral grin. The whip cracks through the air between us, a vicious snap that sends concrete dust swirling. Before I can dodge, it wraps around my thigh, leather biting through denim into flesh. Fire blooms across my leg, but I don’t feel i t.
The whip cracks again, catching my forearm this time. The pain is distant, unimportant, belonging to someone else. I advance another step, knife gripped tight.
“That all you got?” I taunt. “Are you too much of a fucking coward to come closer?”
Her face contorts with rage. The whip lashes out again, catching me across the chest. The impact drives air from my lungs, fabric shredding, skin beneath it opening in a perfect line.
Better me than Eve. The thought is crystal clear amid the red haze of pain. Every strike she aims at me is one my wife’s corpse doesn’t have to take.
I lunge forward, closing the distance between us. The whip is deadly at range but useless up close. Shelby backpedals, but too late—my body collides with hers, driving her back against a metal support beam. The knife in my hand presses against her throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
Her breath comes in sharp pants, eyes wide but unafraid. She knows I could kill her right now. Knows and doesn’t care.
“Do it,” she taunts, voice breaking. “Do it, you fucking spineless coward.”
My hand tightens on her throat, squeezing until her face flushes red, until veins stand out in her forehead. The knife bites deeper, blood welling around the blade.
But Eve is still hanging there, still bleeding. Even dead, she’s still my priority.
I slam Shelby’s head against the beam hard enough to daze her, then spin away, knife still clutched in my fist.
Three long strides bring me to Eve. Her head hangs forward, hair matted with sweat and blood, body limp in her restraints. The knife saws through hemp, fibers parting reluctantly. In my haste, the blade skips, nicking the pale skin of her wrist.
Fresh blood wells from the cut, joining the stream already running down her arm. Horror freezes me for a heartbeat—I’ve hurt her again, added another wound to the collection Shelby’s already given her.
Then… a gasp. Tiny, ragged, but it slams into me harder than any bullet. She’s alive. My wife isn’t dead. Her eyes fl utter, lips parting on a shaky exhale.
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes my knees buckle. I catch her as the last rope gives way, her weight slumping against my chest. She’s warm. Breathing. Heart beating against mine.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair, throat tight with emotion I can’t name. “I’ve got you, Eve. Fuck… I thought I’d lost you. But you’re here. I love you so much. I’ve got you.” The words of relief fall from my lips.
Behind me, Shelby’s laugh rings out, high and unhinged. “How sweet,” she mocks. “Too bad it won’t last. You think you can just walk away from this? Take her home and play house like nothing happened?”
I lay Eve on the ground, and now that she’s no longer slumped, it’s all too easy to see the shoulder wound. I add pressure to stem the bleeding. Then I turn back to Shelby, something cold and calculated replacing the blind rage from before.
She’s managed to retrieve the whip, holding it loosely in one hand, the other pressed against her bleeding throat. Her smile is all teeth, sharp and feral in the dim light.
“You’re going to pay for every mark on her skin,” I promise, advancing on her again.
She lashes out with the whip, but her aim is off, the strike going wide. I catch the leather in mid-air, yanking hard enough to pull her off-balance. She staggers forward, and I’m on her in an instant, driving her to the ground.
We grapple in the dirt and blood, neither willing to yield. Her nails rake down my neck, tearing skin. My hands find her throat again, squeezing until her eyes bulge. The knife lies forgotten inches from my hand—I could reach it, could end this now.
“Jack.” Eve’s voice is weak but clear, cutting through the red haze of my rage. “Jack, stop. Don’t kill her.”
I freeze, hands still locked around Shelby’s throat. “What?”
“Don’t,” Eve repeats, struggling to push herself upright. Blood soaks half her dress, her face pale with pain and blood loss, but her eyes are clear. Determined.
“Baby,” I rasp, wanting her to understand it ha s to be this way. Shelby can’t be allowed to live.
Eve weakly shakes her head. “I’m not your baby,” she chokes out. “I’m Dr. Motherfucking Death. And Shelby isn’t just yours to kill.”
Fuck, if there was ever any doubt as to whether I love this woman or not, there’s none now. Even while bleeding and beaten, she’s all fire.
Shelby’s laugh bubbles up beneath my hands, wet and rasping. “Are you really going to let your wife make the decisions?”
My grip tightens reflexively, rage surging fresh. One squeeze. That’s all it would take to silence her forever, to end the threat she poses to Eve, to me, to everything I’ve finally allowed myself to want.
Slowly, reluctantly, I loosen my grip on Shelby’s throat. She sucks in a ragged breath, coughing and sputtering beneath me.
“Jack.” A note of panic creeps into Shelby’s voice, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with my hand around her throat. “What if I told you this is the whip John used on R-Ruby?”
Instead of feeling more heartbreak or anger, I smile. Fucking smile. It’s cold and ruthless. “You saying that just shows how desperate you are to die.”
Eve’s hand finds my shoulder, trembling but firm. “Don’t listen to her,” my wife whispers. “She’ll pay.”
“We’re taking her with us,” I say, voice rough with restraint. “And once you’re healed, we’ll have some fun, Dr. Death.”
I pull Shelby’s arms behind her back, using my belt to bind her wrists.
“This isn’t over,” she promises, voice scraped raw.
“No,” I tell her, tightening the makeshift restraints until she winces. “We’re just getting started.”
Without sparing her a glance, I throw Shelby to the side and turn my full attention on Eve. I’ve missed this woman so much I’ve been fucking aching. Yet nothing has been as excruciating as being this close to her without being able to touch her until now.
I drop to my knees, hauling her into me, her body folding against mine. She’s trembling, bleeding, but warm. Alive. I bury my face in her hair, the taste of copper on my lips, proof I didn’t lose her. Proof I still have something to fight for.
“Fuck, Eve,” I choke, kissing her everywhere—her temple, the cut on her cheek, her mouth. “I thought I lost you. I can’t lose you. Not you. ”
Her hands, weak but determined, fist into my shirt. She drags me closer, lips seeking mine with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs. “You won’t,” she whispers against my mouth, voice torn but fierce. “Because I love you.”
The words break me open. The kiss that follows isn’t gentle—it’s raw, desperate, survival itself. Relief and hunger and love all tangled in blood and salt. I can’t get enough of her. I’ll never get enough.
“It’s us,” I murmur against her lips, words ragged and true. “You and me against the world. Always.”
Her gray eyes lock on mine, steady despite the pain. “Always,” she echoes, and it’s the only vow I’ll ever need.