Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Rage
I’m driving like a bat out of hell when I catch up to Garth, but to my surprise, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. Once he realized I was behind him, he slowed down to the legal speed limit and has been driving along this random side street like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I can’t quite figure out his game, but if he thinks he’s leading me into a trap, he’s sorely mistaken. Someone is taking care of Luna—I’m positive of that—but the others will have my back. Garth can’t possibly believe he’s going to get away with what he did. Or that I won’t make him pay.
Or maybe that’s what he’s counting on.
Sometimes even the most evil men know when to call it quits.
The issue, of course, is that a lot of the time, they want to take their pursuers down with them.
And I’m not going anywhere.
I watch as he gets on a random two-lane highway, zigzagging through a few smaller towns as he heads toward Ontario. I don’t want him to get to a city because that means witnesses. Street cameras. Cops.
Because Garth isn’t going to prison. Not on my watch. No, this is going to end today. One way or another.
I speed up until I’m right on his ass and bump his back bumper. The car jolts a little but he just keeps going. Time is running out for me to take care of him without an audience.
I step on the gas and pull up alongside him, then I yank the wheel to the right hard.
It smashes against the driver’s side of his car and the vehicle goes onto the shoulder, shakes a little, and then winds up in a ditch.
I slam on the brakes, stopping on the shoulder, and get out of my SUV.
I walk to the edge of the road and look down.
Garth has gotten out of his car and is hoofing it toward a line of trees, so I make my way down the incline and follow. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s trying to decide what to do next, and then abruptly stops. He turns to me, eyes gleaming, breathing hard.
“Now what?” he asks. “You going to kick my ass?”
“What do you think?” I ask, stopping a couple of feet in front of him.
“I taught you everything you know.”
“Not hardly.”
The United States Marines taught me things he’s never even dreamed of.
Four years in the Middle East taught me things I wish I didn’t know. Men I killed without a backward glance. He has no idea what I know.
Put those things together with my professional fighting experience, he’s going to wish I didn’t know them either.
“She ruined my life,” he says, like that’s supposed to change my opinion.
“You were running a fucking rape ring!” I say, shaking my head. “How is she the villain here?”
“No one was getting hurt! The women were all in consensual, committed relationships. The fact that we had sex with them while they were sleeping doesn’t change anything. I loved Marissa. That’s why I figured out a way to get what I needed from her without stressing her out.”
“Without…” I can’t wrap my head around the bullshit he’s spewing. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself?”
“I had a good thing going—and she fucking destroyed it. Not just the academy, but my life! The cancer treatments were going to bankrupt us. I used that money to take care of her! Why don’t you understand that?”
“Wait—the Assault Academy was your idea?” I stare at him.
He scowls. “Me and three others. And it took off. I was able to take care of Marissa, get her every treatment available, and then at the end, she would have had private nurses, the best drugs, so she wouldn’t have to suffer.
Instead, that Shawna bitch forced me to shut it down and I lost everything. Thank God for Mikey.”
“Who the fuck is Mikey?” I’m more curious than anything else.
“Director of the FBI—Michael Marchmont. We went to college together. Been friends for decades.”
Luna really uncovered quite the can of worms. No wonder she was worried. And I foolishly minimized the danger.
Well, that ends now.
“He can’t protect you this time,” is all I say.
Garth doesn’t say anything.
And then, to my surprise, he kicks off his shoes and holds up his fists, in a fighter’s stance.
I don’t know if he actually believes he can take me or if he’s just posturing. Before I can decide, his leg comes out and he kicks me. Hard. Right in the gut. It hurts, because back in the day his kick was lethal, but today I just smile.
Because he’s fifteen years beyond “back in the day.”
And unlike him, I’m still in my prime. Maybe not my prime as far as the UFC goes, but certainly the prime of my life. In the best shape of my life. And more deadly than anyone he ever got in a cage with.
“Bring it, old man.” I don’t have to take off my shoes or anything else.
Without warning, he charges me, and we go down in the grass, rolling and swinging like our lives depend on it.
Maybe they do. He still has a hell of an elbow and a cross that stings, but I’ve seen him favor his right leg.
Just a little. Not enough for anyone but a fellow fighter to notice, so that’s where I focus my energy, sending kicks to his knee and thigh.
Finally, I push him off me and we both jump to our feet.
He swings but I easily move out of the way. He’s slow, and already winded, but he could also be faking, trying to make me drop my guard.
That’s not going to happen.
I kick out, catching him in the side of the knee, and there’s a faint wince.
Now I know exactly where to focus my energy.
But he surprises me, coming in with a barrage of powerful punches that bring us both down, grappling for dominance.
He’s stronger than he looks, but now that I know, I’ll simply adjust. Only one of us is walking away today. And it won’t be him.
I roll onto my back, and from there I’m able to kick out and send him sprawling.
I turn and go on the attack, this time pinning him down by pressing on his bad knee with one of mine while going at his ribs with all my power.
He pushes at me, the fingers of one hand squeezing my face.
I know he’s going for my eyes, so I twist my head and continue to throw punch after punch.
I’m wearing him down, but he’s not giving up easily either.
Because he knows we’re fighting to the death.
This isn’t a sanctioned fight, an exhibition, or anything else—he understands that one of us isn’t walking away. What he doesn’t know is that it’s not going to be him.
He brings up his good knee, catching me in the ribs, and it’s enough of a distraction for him to wiggle out from under me and stand up. But he can’t fake the cut over his eye or the way he’s limping. The pain is real.
I’ve got him now.
I bring up my leg and make direct contact with his ribs.
I follow it up with a solid kick to the side of his knee, and he goes down.
I follow and land on his side, reaching for his left wrist with my right hand under his head.
I press my weight down on his left elbow as I make contact with his left wrist and pull his left arm across his face, pretty much rendering him helpless.
My elbows fire down onto his ribs with the occasional crunch.
He’s able to bring his hand underneath his arm to his forehead and heave, which frees him from the helpless position I had him in.
He rolls like a log away from me as I try to maintain my hold on his wrist. The cut on his eye must be bleeding a lot more than I thought as my fingers slip free.
He scrambles to his feet on unsteady legs, and I rush forward. I bring back my fist and crash it into his nose. Blood spurts everywhere, but I just keep hitting him.
“Fuck you,” he hisses. “I never should have taken you under my wing.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” I reply. “Because I hate knowing that we ever had anything to do with each other.”
Blood is pouring down his face now, and when he bares his teeth, I see the man that would have killed Luna.
The man who raped his cancer-stricken wife for an indeterminate length of time.
The man who helped teach other men how to rape their unconscious partners.
The man who kidnapped and did God only knows what to the woman I love.
I bring back my fist and smash it into his mouth.
His head snaps to the side, blood covers his shoulder and my hand, but he swings back, roaring as he tries to claw at my face.
Batting him away, I know what I have to do.
I’ve only done it one other time—that was in the Middle East and I swore I’d never do it again once I came home—but I will for Luna.
And for all the women whose partners raped them because of this man.
There are punches and then there are life-changing blows.
This is going to be the latter.
When my fist connects with the side of his jaw everything seems to move in slow motion. I don’t know if I feel or hear the crack, but in my head, it’s deafening. His head snaps back and he sinks to the ground. And doesn’t move.
His neck is positioned at a weird angle, and I’m vaguely aware of someone calling my name.
Luna.
It’s Luna’s voice.
“Elliott! Elliott!”
“Don’t let her down here!” I yell back.
Someone must grab her because she shrieks indignantly but I’m rooted to the spot. There’s movement around me, and I feel a hand on my arm.
“He dead?” Silver’s voice.
“I’m pretty sure.”
Metal kneels down beside Garth and puts his fingers on his neck. “No pulse. His neck is broken. He’s gone.”
I nod once.
“We need to clean this up,” Silver says. “I’m making a call.” He walks back up the embankment, phone at his ear.
“You okay?” Grim asks, coming over to me.
“I’m fine.” I turn my back on Garth’s body. “Make sure Luna doesn’t see this.”
“I think she needs to see it.”
I scowl. “She doesn’t.”
“Maybe ask her what she needs.”
He has a point.
I look up and see my girl standing with Eric, cursing a blue streak as he tries to keep her from running toward me.
Instead, I jog up to her and wrap her in my arms.