I watched Marci.It looked like she’d managed to free her left wrist.Her arms were positioned to hide the progress from Mercer.A shift of weight tested the rope around her ankles.Calculation in every breath.
“Yes.”My voice pulled Mercer’s full attention to me.“I have something to say.”
His eyebrows rose.He seemed to expect begging, bargaining, surrender.A broken man.
“You already lost,” I told him.“The moment she chose to leave you, you lost.Everything since then has been you refusing to accept the truth.”
His face went dark.The gun rose toward my head.“You arrogant --”
Marci’s eyes locked on mine.Now.
My body moved before the thought finished forming.
Everything happened between one heartbeat and the next.Marci threw her weight backward and the chair crashed to the concrete, metal shrieking across the floor.She hit hard, and the sound reached my ears at the same moment my boots left the ground as I launched myself at Mercer.His gun started to swing toward where Marci had fallen, but my shoulder hit his chest first and drove him backward into the darkness beyond the single hanging bulb.
We slammed onto concrete together.The gun jammed between our bodies, his fingers locked around the grip, my palm crushing over his to angle the muzzle away from anything that counted.The air left my lungs in a painful rush.Mercer twisted and landed on top of me, his elbow digging into my ribs, his knee driving toward my groin.I twisted and caught the strike on my thigh.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, spit spraying from his mouth, his breath reeking of stale coffee and fury.
I didn’t waste time on a reply.Every ounce of focus stayed on the gun, on forcing the barrel anywhere except toward Marci or me.My free hand tore at his face, fingers digging for eyes.He jerked backward, and I twisted through the motion, driving him beneath my weight.His fist stayed clamped around the weapon, no slack in his grip.
We rolled again.Concrete hammered our bodies as we smashed into the base of a support beam, rust drifting down from the vibration.My hold slipped for half a heartbeat.Mercer seized the chance, wrenching the gun partway loose.The barrel swung in a frantic arc, aiming at nothing and everything all at once.
Behind us came rope scraping over metal and concrete.Marci fought ankle restraints, breath ragged and movements frantic.I wanted to look.Couldn’t.One second of distraction would hand Mercer a clean kill.
His free hand locked around my throat.Air vanished.Darkness crawled up the edges of my vision.Panic surged hard enough to blur everything.Passing out meant death.I drove my knee into his ribs again and again until a grunt broke through his teeth and his fingers slipped.A rush of air tore down my lungs.I answered by slamming an elbow across his face.
Bone cracked.His nose exploded.Blood sprayed across both of us, his head snapping backward under the force.For a split second, his body sagged.I nearly tore the gun loose.
Nearly.
Training pumped through him like fuel.His leg hooked behind mine, hips twisted, and we rolled once more.
This time we crashed over broken glass and scattered debris.Shards shredded my shirt, slicing through skin along my back and shoulders.His forehead smashed into my face.White stars burst behind my eyes.Hot blood spilled across my lips and chin, mixing with his.
The gun stayed trapped between us.He jammed his finger into the trigger guard.I crushed his wrist, fighting to angle the barrel away.Every muscle in my body screamed.
We slammed into a stack of pallets, the whole structure collapsing under both of us.Splinters drove into my legs and back.Mercer seized the distraction.His thumb pulled the hammer into position.The barrel crept closer to my chest.
I drove my forehead into his face.Fresh blood sprayed across us.He screamed like a wounded animal and still refused to release his hold.Desperation powered every muscle, strength rising from a place no sane man should reach.
“You can’t win,” he gasped through blood and damage.“You have nothing.You’re nobody.She belongs to me.Mine.”
“Not a chance.”I jammed my boot against his chest and shoved with everything I had.
For the first time since the fight began, we split apart.Both of us rolled across concrete slick from blood.He reached his knees first.The gun stayed in his hand.The muzzle drifted as he struggled to track my movement.His face looked barely human under swelling, blood, and rage.
His finger tightened on the trigger.The barrel aligned over my chest.
Marci struck from the side.
She threw her entire body into him.Every ounce of fury, fear, survival, and love fueled that collision.Mercer toppled.The gun jerked.His finger finished the trigger pull.
The blast ripped through the warehouse.Sound punched my ears until a shrill ringing drowned everything else.A burst of white light froze the scene -- Marci straining forward, Mercer twisting, my arm raised to shield my face.
Then silence, except for the relentless ringing.
Mercer collapsed in slow motion.His left hand clamped down on his right shoulder and blood poured between his fingers.It seemed he’d been hit from a ricochet.The gun clattered across the concrete and spun twice before settling against a support beam several feet away.
