Page 49 of Cheshire

Holmes was already stalking toward me. He didn’t expect the arc of steel that whistled through the air toward him. With reflexes honed by dirty dealings and darker nights, he threw up an arm. The pipe met his forearm with a sickening crunch. For a second, pain flickered across his face.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” I snarled.

He grunted, shaking off the hit like it was nothing. But I saw the wince, the slight falter. It was enough.

We clashed again, bodies colliding. His fist skimmed my jaw -- too close. I countered with a hook to his ribs that made him stagger back. I felt something give beneath my knuckles, and a twisted part of me smirked.

“Nice try, boy,” Holmes spat, wiping blood from his lip.

“Boy?” I echoed, a laugh ripping from my throat. “That all you got, old man?”

Our dance was brutal, each step a strike meant to break bones or wills -- whichever gave out first. I ducked a wild swing, coming back with an uppercut. He blocked, then launched a kick aimed at my knee. I sidestepped, but the move cost me. Pain shot up my leg, a sharp reminder of the impact with those damned crates.

“Can’t keep up?” Holmes ground out, reading my stumble all wrong.

“Keep dreaming,” I threw back, teeth gritted.

This was survival, raw and unfiltered. Each hit was a testament to the hatred that had been brewing. Every punch I landed chipped away at the monster before me, a monster draped in the garb of a lawman.

I could feel the tide turning, each exchange of violence bringing me closer to ending this nightmare. Eliza’s face flashed before my eyes with every strike, her silent plea fueling my resolve. I wouldn’t -- I couldn’t -- let her down.

Not tonight. Not ever.

My lungs were burning, every breath a ragged drag. Sweat stung my eyes, but I couldn’t afford to blink. Not with Holmes in front of me, every line of his body screaming murder.

“Getting tired, Cheshire?” His voice was a gravelly sneer as he circled me like a vulture.

“Something like that.” My legs felt like jelly. Despite my exhaustion, I could keep going. But I had to make him believe he was winning.

Holmes’ lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he lunged, fist barreling toward my face. It was now or never.

I dodged -- barely -- a whisper away from disaster. My adrenaline surged. Time slowed down, just enough. I pivoted, coiling power up from my toes, and let loose an uppercut that had every ounce of my strength behind it.

It connected. The crunch was sickeningly sweet.

Holmes’ body crumpled, hitting the ground with a thud that echoed off the walls. Dust billowed around him.

My chest heaved as I watched him. But the bastard wouldn’t stay down. Blood was smeared across his face, mixing with the dirt on the floor, yet he pushed himself up. His eyes locked onto mine, wild and unhinged.

“You… you won’t win,” he snarled, staggering to his feet, coming at me again.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I shot back, readying for another round. I could have ended this easily. One shot to the head, but I felt like I needed to give him as much as he’d given Eliza over the years. A quick, clean death was too good for the likes of him.

Holmes lunged like a rabid dog, all froth and fury. I sidestepped.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” I said under my breath.

He came at me again, fists swinging wild. I ducked, felt the whoosh of air as his punch missed by an inch. Then I struck. Left jab to the gut. Right hook to the ribs. His breath hitched, his body buckling.

“This.” Crack. My knuckles met his ribs again. “Is.” Crack. My fist smashed into his face. “For.” Another hit to his abdomen. “Eliza!”

I let loose with a barrage of punches, not letting up until I thought I might drop.

Holmes staggered, but his eyes still burned with that same damn madness. He spat blood, his grin a crimson smear. How the fuck was this asshole still standing?

“Fight’s just starting, old man,” I taunted, although, I had to admit I was slowing down.

I hit him again and again. Landing blow after blow.

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