Page 57 of Not This Night

She followed.

"Look," Rachel's patience frayed like old rope, "You can talk to me, or you can talk to the feds when they swarm this place." Ethan would’ve said it nice. Would’ve packaged it with copious amounts of congenial. But she wasn’t Ethan. She watched his jaw tense, the threat hanging between them like a swung punch.

"Prison," she pushed, raising the stakes. "You know what an accessory is? I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘accessory after the fact’. That’s going to be you if you don’t start talking. Cooperate or prison. It’s that simple.”

The word 'prison' was the flint that struck fire in Big Joe's belly. He erupted, a bellowing force, words thundering out. "You don't scare me!"

"Yes. I do." Rachel said flatly, her dark eyes narrowing as she stared up at the blustering mountain of muscle with the unflinching confidence of a woman who had stared down mountain lions and bears. Inwardly, her heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her voice level. She didn’t know if Big Joe could ‘smell her fear’ the way a wolf could. But the key in either case was to show no sign of retreat, no flicker of doubt.

"We're just trying to find Charlie,” Ethan interjected, his hands raising as he tried to dial back the tension.

And in that split-second shift of her focus, Big Joe moved—fast for his size. His massive hand clamped around Rachel's arm like a bear trap, his other hand shoving her shoulder with brute force, sending tumbling towards the stairs, pitching her over the wooden rail.

And then, she was falling.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The world spun wildly as Rachel tumbled over the wooden railing, sent flying by Big Joe, her stomach lurching into her throat.

Airborne, Rachel's mind raced with calculations, the anticipation of pain setting her nerves alight. Her body braced for the inevitable crash—muscles tensed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing to slits.

She slammed into the floorboards with a heavy thud, the breath knocked from her lungs. Pain radiated through her frame; a groan escaped her lips, muffled by the hand that instinctively covered her mouth. Dust motes danced in shafts of light as the echo of her fall reverberated through the room.

"Damn," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lying there, every second felt drawn out, each tiny creak of the old house a thunderous roar to her heightened senses. She rolled onto her side, wincing as sharp stings protested the movement. Her arm—a crucial tool for any ranger, especially now—she lifted it tentatively, rotating the wrist, flexing the fingers. Not broken. Painful? Hell, yes. But functional.

Pushing through the sting, Rachel was on her feet. Dust clung to her shirt, but her eyes were clear, sharp. Upstairs, wood cracked and a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"Joe!" Ethan's shout was a battle cry as he lunged from the upper landing.

Rachel's pulse pounded in her ears. She could see the scene unfolding above as if in slow motion—Ethan, the man who knew family like the back of his hand, throwing himself into the fray with the recklessness of someone defending his own kin.

Big Joe turned, a mountain of menace. He caught Ethan mid-air with ease that defied his bulk, his massive hand encircling the detective's neck. Ethan's feet dangled, kicking futilely as he was hoisted up, up until his head nearly brushed the ceiling. His face reddened, the veins in his temples standing out stark against his skin.

"Put him down, you overgrown thug!" Rachel's command sliced through the tension, but he ignored her.

Rachel bolted, propelling herself up the staircase. Her legs pumped with a ferocity born of desperation, a primal drive to save Ethan from Big Joe's crushing grip, and the old wooden steps groaned under her assault, splinters and dust shooting into the air.

"Rae!" Ethan's choked gasp echoed down to her, spurring her on faster.

She was almost there, just a few more feet—

With a grunt of effort, Big Joe hurled Ethan through the air like a ragdoll. Time slowed as Rachel watched in horror, her partner's body spinning uncontrollably towards her. Instinctively, she braced for impact.

They collided with a sickening crunch, limbs entangled. Momentum sent them both crashing back down the stairs, a whirlwind of flailing arms and legs. Each step hammered into Rachel's back, pain flaring sharp and bright. Wood splintered.

At the bottom, they lay in a heap, the world tilting and spinning around them. Rachel coughed, the air thick with dust and the acrid bite of fear. Beside her, Ethan groaned, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Together, amidst the wreckage, they fought to regain their bearings, the danger far from over.

Grit ground into her palms. Rachel pushed through the pain, her body a map of bruises and ache. She rose, eyes locked on Ethan's pained grimace as he too found his feet. Dust swirled around them, unsettled by their movements.

"You good?" Ethan rasped, his voice low.

"I just fell down the stairs twice. What do you think?" she grunted, wincing.

Rachel’s hand slipped to her holster, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of her service weapon as she pulled it free with a metallic click of the safety disengaging, barely audible over their ragged breathing. Rachel squared her shoulders, the Ranger in her eclipsing the pain, the fear.

"Stay behind me," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

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