The knife broke free, tumbled into the snow.
But Mars delivered a fist to his jaw and that had Jericho tasting blood, stumbling back. He landed on his backside.
He’d also lost sight of the knife in the snow.
Mars had rolled, and Jericho kicked away from him, probably tossing the lost knife into the darkness with his efforts.
He fought to scramble up, but Mars tackled him, brought him down with awhuff. Another fist careened toward his face, buthe got his arm up before he landed the blow and pulled Mars close, boxing his ear.
Mars jerked and slammed fists into Jericho’s ribs, but his jacket caught most of the impact and then he kneed the man in his gut.
For a second, Mars jerked, and Jericho got his hands around his neck.
Just hold on.The thought hit him, swelled through him.Just hold on,and...
And the sense of it ripped through him. It was one thing to shoot someone while at war.
Entirely another to kill someone with his hands.
He wasn’tthatguy.
Still, he could cut off Mars’s breathing, make him pass out, then secure him. So, yeah, he held on as Mars clawed at his grip.
He wore gloves, which didn’t help. His grip slipped, his hold loosening and when Mars slammed his fist into his face, the blow broke Jericho’s grip.
Mars reared back, away from Jericho.
Then he took off through the woods.
Jericho wiped blood from his face, fought to his feet.
No. He wasn’t getting away. Not again.
Let’s finish this.
He took off after the man, adrenaline hot in his veins. “Mars!”
The man vanished into the darkness, and Jericho’s gut told him to slow down, but he stopped listening, let his impulse drive him.
He was Harley, running after trouble. And he didn’t care.
His boots crashed through the snow layer, the branches breaking as he plowed through the trail Mars left. Snow shook down from the trees, buffeted him, but he heard the swearing ahead of him, hard breaths and branches breaking. He kept running.
His feet hit rock, and he nearly slid. Grabbed a nearby tree branch for stability, then kept going.
A rock whizzed past his head. That slowed him down.
Another, and he spotted Mars ahead, in the light of the moon, on a rise of rocks.
Yeah, Mars would kill him if Jericho kept running, let recklessness guide him.
But he couldn’t let him get away ...
“Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
The words thundered through him.
The ridge.
