Page 67 of Not This Place

His voice grew louder now as he shouted.

She drowned him out as he spoke.

There was a madness in his gaze now, the eyes of a cornered animal. He bared his teeth in a cruel smile as he began to detail the horrors he had planned. The names of powerful law firms rolled off his tongue, each one carrying an implicit threat. His wealth, countless billions, would be leveraged against her. Against her family. Her friends.

Her hand didn't shake as she held the gun steady, her grip firm. She could feel the rough texture of the grip against her palm, grounding her in the reality of what she was facing.

Hargreaves kept talking, his voice becoming a drone in her ears as her thoughts turned inward. Memories surfaced unbidden, images of a life stolen from her long ago. A burning house, smoke choking the air, cruel laughter echoing in the night.

Rachel's eyes hardened further with determination. The ghost of that past wouldn't dictate her future, nor would it shape the fate of those she cared for.

Hargreaves took another step towards her, his gaze never leaving hers. Behind him, she saw Ethan descend further down the ladder, his body lit by the harsh glare of the helicopter's spotlight. Hargreaves followed her gaze and laughed again.

"Is that your partner?" He gestured at Ethan with a tilt of his head, his voice filled with mocking amusement. "He seems eager to help you."

Rachel kept her gaze locked onto him, unwavering despite the threats spilling from Hargreaves' lips. His words invaded her ears like gnawing insects, but she refused to give him any satisfaction.

The forest, a black canvas punctuated by the stark white beam of Rachel's flashlight, seemed to hold its breath. Hargreaves' eyes caught the light, gleaming with malice. A hand flickered in the peripheral glow, gesturing skyward.

"He'll be last. I'll make sure he begs for death long before I grant it."

Rachel didn't flinch, her gaze nailed to Hargreaves. Threatening her partner's life, a trigger, but her finger stayed disciplined.

"Empty threats," she replied, voice flat, a hard edge to each syllable.

Hargreaves' smile widened, a crack in the night. One deliberate step forward. The ground beneath his feet whispered of his movement; the river's flow a quiet witness.

Rachel's hand tightened around the grip of her gun. Knuckles white. Steady aim. Her heartbeat was a silent drum against her ribcage.

"Scared?" Hargreaves taunted, voice a blade.

"Prepared," she corrected, the word a bullet in the chamber. “You have money. Lawyers. So does the US government. Is this the part where you pretend you're not scared?" she asked, her tone dripping with challenge. "Or are you too deluded by your own arrogance to feel fear?"

For a moment, Hargreaves hesitated. His smirk faltered. The gleam in his eyes dimmed. A flicker of something else—doubt, perhaps—crossed his features. He had not expected defiance. Not like this.

Rachel sensed the shift. She took a step forward, closing the space between them. The distance shrank to nothing. Her movements were precise.

"Go ahead," Hargreaves spat. "Shoot me if that's what it takes."

She held his gaze, unwavering. The river murmured behind her, indifferent to human schemes.

"Maybe I will," she said, her voice steady as bedrock.

Hargreaves' hand twitched. A glint of steel—a knife from within his coat. He lunged. The act was desperate, wild. But Rachel was ready. She sidestepped, her training taking over. Hand to wrist. Twist. Disarm. The knife clattered to the forest floor, its threat extinguished.

"Predictable," she stated, the words as solid as the ground beneath her feet.

Hargreaves grunted, his composure slipping like sand through fingers.

Hargreaves' face contorted, an ugly mask of rage and desperation. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, each one a prelude to his next move. Rachel watched, every muscle coiled tight as a spring, her senses honed from years of pursuing justice on the unpredictable Texas plains.

Time slowed, the night air thick with tension. Hargreaves' eyes darted left, then right, seeking an escape that wasn't there. He was cornered, a predator turned prey in the space of a heartbeat.

Rachel's knee shot up. A solid thud. Flesh against flesh. The blow struck true, driving deep into Hargreaves' groin. His body buckled, pain splintering through him like lightning. A guttural sound escaped his lips, half-groan, half-scream, the noise raw and primal.

His knees hit the dirt, hands clutching at himself. The pain radiated across his face in waves, etching deep furrows in his brow, pulling his mouth open in a silent howl. His eyes, once gleaming with malice, now watered, glazed over with agony.

With Hargreaves doubled over, Rachel stepped closer. Her presence was a force, her authority unchallenged. She leaned in, gun still trained on him.

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