Page 58 of Not This Night

Before Ethan could nod, a shadow loomed at the top of the stairs. Big Joe, massive frame blocking out the light, dropped like an anvil. Colliding with Rachel, the giant sent her gun skidding across the worn floorboards as Ethan and Rachel were sent in separate directions by the man’s bulk as he dropped between them.

"Look out!" she screamed.

Big Joe had pivoted, his focus shifted to Ethan. Like a bear swiping at its prey, he launched Ethan with brute force. He shoved Ethan towards the large, street-facing front window. The window shattered, a spiderweb of violence bursting into daylight as Ethan's body crashed through the glass, landing with a thud outside.

Rachel's gaze snapped around the chaos-strewn room, desperate for a weapon. There, above the stone fireplace, the giant bison head loomed—its glassy eyes and outstretched horns an eerie testament to battles long past. Rachel bolted towards it.

Her fingers grasped the coarse fur, finding purchase on one of the thick horns. With a grunt of effort, she wrenched the trophy from its mount, dust exploding into the air like gunsmoke. The weight of it threatened to unbalance her.

"Come on, you bastard," she growled, hefting the bison head into a ready position as Big Joe turned his hulking body towards her.

Big Joe lunged, a snarl etched into his mountainous face, but Rachel swung with all the force her adrenaline-fueled muscles could muster. The first hit was a glancing blow, the horn clipping Big Joe's shoulder and barely slowing his advance. She staggered back, recalibrating, her breaths hot in her throat.

She swung again, this time connecting with a satisfying thud against Big Joe's temple. He stumbled, shaking his head, rage distorting his features. But he didn't fall.

"Damn it." Rachel reset her stance, the bison head growing heavier in her hands.

With a primal yell, she unleashed another strike, more ferocious than the last. Horn met skull with a crack that echoed off the walls. Big Joe reeled, his legs wobbling beneath him. She could see it now—the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"Gotcha," Rachel hissed through clenched teeth.

Big Joe's hand shot out toward Rachel. His fingers, thick as sausages, clawed the air, aiming for her throat just as she ducked, feeling the brush of his fingertips as they passed.

Rachel looked around desperately for her gun, catching a glint of metal near the couch she lunged to Big Joe’s right, but his hand snaked out again, faster this time. It clamped around her neck, squeezing tight. Air sputtered from her lips. Her vision blurred at the edges, spots of black dancing before her eyes.

With a guttural cry, she summoned what strength remained. The bison head became her lifeline, its weight grounding her. She swung it upward in a desperate arc, targeting the arm that constricted her windpipe.

The impact reverberated up her arms. Once. Twice. A third time, harder still. The fourth strike hit true, a sickening crunch signaling victory. Big Joe's grasp loosened. His arm fell away, limp and defeated.

Rachel gasped, precious oxygen flooding her lungs. She panted, each breath a ragged triumph. Big Joe stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock, face contorted in pain.

He tumbled then, collapsing on the floor with a loud thunk.

Big Joe's heavy breathing filled the room, his colossal frame heaving on the floor. Rachel moved fast, her trained eyes assessing his size. One pair of cuffs wouldn't cut it. She’d have to link them together. She pulled out two sets from her belt, snapping them onto one of Big Joe's massive wrists with a practiced motion. The metallic click echoed in the hushed aftermath of their brawl.

"Should've known I'd need extra for you," Rachel muttered, securing the second set to his other wrist. The cuffs were tight, but not too tight—she was meticulous even in the chaos.

She didn't waste a second more. Spinning on her heel, Rachel dashed towards the shattered window. Ethan. Her partner, her responsibility. The thought propelled her over the debris, her boots crunching on splintered wood and glass.

"Ethan!" she called out, voice sharp with urgency.

Outside, Ethan sat against the wall, shards of the window littering the ground around him. A fresh line of blood trickled down his cheek from a gash just above his eyebrow. He looked up, his hand pausing mid-air as he plucked a sliver of glass from his skin. His eyes met hers—a silent communication of relief and pain.

"Damn, that looks nasty," Rachel said, crouching beside him. Her fingers hovered near the cut, hesitant to touch.

"Comes with the territory," Ethan grunted, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the grimace that followed.

"Let me see," she insisted, her tone softening. It was the same firm yet gentle command she'd used countless times in the field, a balance between authority and empathy.

Ethan nodded, leaning back to give her better access. Rachel inspected the wound, her hands steady as she cleared away the smaller fragments. They'd need to get it cleaned up properly, but that was a worry for later.

"Looks like you'll live," she declared, offering a thin smile.

"Just another day at the office, right?" Ethan replied, trying to laugh it off. But his breath hitched, betraying the effort it took.

"Let's get you patched up." Rachel helped him to his feet, her arm around his waist for support.

Glass crunched underfoot as Rachel and Ethan stepped through the jagged frame of the shattered window. The main room loomed ahead, dim and chaotic, littered with evidence of their struggle. Rachel's eyes darted across the space, cataloging exits, potential weapons, any signs of movement. Ethan's breaths were shallow but even, the steady rise and fall of his chest a counterpoint to the pounding of Rachel's heart.

---