“Look, there’s plenty of pussy for all of us…” he started to say and then he swung. It was a big right hand, meant to be a roundhouse punch. A knockout punch.
It was wide. Sloppy. Angry.
Kinsman easily ducked under the punch without stepping back. His right hand came up in a tight arc, a straight shot into the solar plexus that drove the air out of the man in a wet, choking grunt.
The sound was ugly. Like something breaking inside.
Before the man could fold, Kinsman brought his knee up hard into the man's face.
The impact was a wet crack. Bone on bone. Cartilage collapsing. Teeth clicking together and then breaking. Blood sprayed across Kinsman's pants, hot and dark.
The man staggered backward, hands coming up too late, his face already a ruin. His nose was flattened and his mouth was a red mess.
Kinsman finished it with a short right hook, compact and brutal, all his weight behind it. The punch caught the man on the hinge of his jaw and his head snapped sideways with a sound like a branch breaking.
The man went down hard and stayed there, twitching, eyes already gone glassy. His pants had come undone. Blood pooled under his head, spreading slowly across the concrete.
One of his boots kicked twice, then stopped.
The room fell silent.
Joe could hear the woman's shallow gasps. Could hear the wet, rattling sound coming from the man on the floor.
Kinsman stood over him, his hands loose at his sides.
“Let’s get him out of here” Kinsman said. He and Joe each grabbed a leg and dragged the man out and dumped him.
Two men came forward, probably from the unconscious soldier’s unit, grabbed the man under his arms, and dragged him away. His boots scraped on the ground. His head lolled. A trail of blood followed him.
Kinsman crossed the room and pulled a folding knife from his pocket. He opened it with one hand and cut the zip cuffs at the woman's wrists, then her ankles. The plastic fell away in pieces.
The woman folded forward immediately, a single sob tearing out of her like it had been held back for hours. Her whole body shook. Her hands came up to cover her face.
Kinsman caught her before she hit the floor. He turned her away from the blood, away from where the man had been, and held her upright with one hand on her shoulder.
She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
"Take her," Kinsman said to Joe. "Somewhere else."
Joe stepped forward. The woman didn't look at him. Didn't look at anything. Just let herself be guided out of the room, her legs barely working, her breath coming in short, hitching gasps.
Joe walked her down a hallway to an empty office. Found a chair. Sat her down. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them and rocked slightly, staring at the wall.
He found a blanket. Draped it over her shoulders.
She didn't acknowledge him. Didn't speak.
Joe stood there for a moment, then stepped outside and closed the door.
Kinsman was in the hallway, washing his hands in a utility sink. The water ran pink, then clear.
"She needs a medic," Joe said.
"Already called," Kinsman said.
He dried his hands on his pants. Looked at Joe.
"It had to be done.”
