Page 50 of The Highwaymen

I saw the exact moment that fear crystallized into grim resolve. His body tensed beneath mine, lean muscles coiling. Then he surged upward, smashing his forehead into my nose in an explosion of bright pain.

I reeled back, stars flaring across my vision, blood sheeting hot over my lips and chin. Jamie writhed out from under me, scuttling backin the dust. My hand reflexively tightened on the knife hilt, slick and sticky with blood or sweat.

Staggering to my feet, I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. Blood dripped from my chin, splattering the sand in fat, dark drops. Through the crimson haze filming my vision, I saw Jamie crouched warily a few feet away, fists raised, a feral snarl twisting his bloodied lips.

Romeo's men hooted and jeered from the sidelines, their raucous catcalls scraping against my nerves like rusted barbed wire. They jostled for a better view, eyes alight with cruel anticipation, hungry for the promised violence. To them, we were just entertainment, dancing monkeys performing for their twisted amusement.

I adjusted my grip on the knife, the leather-wrapped hilt slippery with sweat. The blade felt heavy, an unwelcome weight that seemed to sear my palm. Every instinct screamed at me to throw it away, to refuse to play Romeo's sadistic game. But the cold reality of the gun muzzles trained on us kept me still. There was no choice here, only survival.

Jamie feinted left, then darted right, trying to slip past my guard. I pivoted to block him, slashing out with the knife. He danced back; the blade missing his chest by a hairsbreadth. We circled each other, kicking up puffs of dust, searching for an opening.

I lunged forward, knife flashing in a vicious arc aimed at Jamie's throat. He twisted away at the last second, the razor edge skimming his skin and parting the fabric of his shirt. A thin red line bloomed on his pale flesh, beads of scarlet welling up like morbid rubies.

Jamie hissed in pain but didn't falter, using his momentum to spin into a roundhouse kick that caught me in the ribs. The impact drove the air from my lungs in a pained grunt, agony lancing through my side. Staggering, I barely brought the knife up in time to block his follow-up strike, our forearms colliding with a meaty thwack.

We traded blows in a brutal dance, the night air rent by harsh breaths and the dull thud of fists on flesh. Dust billowed around our scuffling feet, clinging to the blood and sweat slicking our skin. The moon hung bloated and yellow overhead, an impassive witness to our struggle.

Jamie fought with the feral desperation of a cornered animal, quick and vicious. What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for in speed and savagery. His blows stung like adder strikes, precise and tightly controlled despite the fear bright in his eyes.

I gave as good as I got, my superior size and reach keeping him at bay. The knife seemed to move of its own accord, flashing silver in the night, hungry for blood.

Jamie darted in again, a blur of shadow and snarling fury. The knife lashed out, catching him across the ribs and parting fabric and flesh in a crimson slash. He stumbled back with a pained cry that tore at my heart, one hand clasped to his side as scarlet seeped between his fingers.

My chest constricted at the sight, self-loathing rising like bile in my throat. I was a monster, carving up the only person who truly understood the darkness festering in my soul. But this was kill or be killed, a twisted spectacle for the amusement of soulless men. There was no choice here, only survival and the cold comfort that it was my hand holding the blade, not some faceless thug who would make Jamie suffer out of pure cruelty.

Blinking sweat and blood from my eyes, I advanced on Jamie's hunched form, the knife feeling like a lead weight in my grip. He scrambled back in the dirt, one arm still clutched to his wounded side, the other raised in feeble defense. Fear and pain warred with grim resolve in his eyes.

“Do it then,” he spat, pink-tinged spittle flying from his bloodied lips. “Quit playing with me and fucking end this!”

The anguish in his voice ripped through me, his words like jagged shards of glass shredding my insides. He knew the inevitable conclusion here as well as I did.

I hesitated, the knife trembling in my white-knuckled grip. I couldn't do it. I couldn't snuff out the feral light in Jamie's eyes, couldn't be the one to paint the sand with his precious blood. He was a kindred spirit, the only one who truly understood the darkness that gnawed at my soul like a starving rat. Hurting him felt like carving out a piece of myself.

A harsh bark of laughter shattered the moment, grating against my nerves like a rusted blade. I glanced over to see Romeo smirking, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes as he lounged against the hood of his sleek black Escalade. His goons stood in a loose semicircle, assault rifles cradled in their tattooed arms, watching the spectacle with eager anticipation.

“Finish him, puto,” Romeo called out, making a slashing motion across his throat. “Put the little bitch out of his misery.”

White-hot rage exploded behind my eyes, boiling through my veins like molten lead. How dare he? How fucking dare he treat Jamie's life like some cheap entertainment, a bit of barbaric sport for his twisted amusement? In that moment, I hated Romeo more intensely than I'd ever hated anyone. More than the abusive father who beat me bloody as a child, more than the cop who nearly sent me to prison when I was sixteen. I wanted to carve that smug smirk off his fucking face.

My vision tunneled, narrowing to a laser focus on Romeo's smirking face. The rest of the world fell away - the shouts of the men, the acrid stench of gun oil. Even Jamie's labored breathing faded to static. There was only the red haze of rage and the icy certainty that Romeo must die.

I pivoted on my heel, hurling the knife with every ounce of strength in my body. It flashed end over end, a silver blur streaking toward Romeo's face. His eyes widened in shock, the smirk freezing on his lips as he realized his mistake a split second too late.

The blade buried itself in his left eye with a wet crunch, the force snapping his head back. He toppled off the Escalade's hood, arms pinwheeling, landing in a graceless heap on the sand. Scarlet blossomed around the knife's hilt, stark against the pallor of his skin.

For a single, crystalline moment, no one moved. Romeo's men gaped in stunned disbelief, brains struggling to process the sudden turn of events. Jamie stared at me from the ground, something like shocked awe flickering in his eyes.

Then the night erupted in gunfire, the staccato bark of assault rifles ripping through the stunned silence. Bullets whined past my head, kicking up puffs of sand at my feet. I hit the dirt, rolling and scrambling for cover behind a nearby boulder.

I pressed my back against the cold, rough stone, chest heaving, adrenaline surging through my veins like an electric current. Bullets pinged off the boulder, chips of rock stinging my exposed skin. The night air was thick with cordite and the coppery reek of spilled blood.

I risked a quick glance around the boulder's edge, trying to get a bead on Jamie's position. He was crouched behind a low rise in the sand about fifteen feet to my left, one arm still clutched to his wounded side. Our eyes met, a moment of perfect understanding passing between us. We were in this together, for better or worse. Ride or die.

The gunfire intensified, the harsh bark of rifles echoing off the surrounding dunes. Romeo's men were advancing, spreading out in a loose semicircle to flank our positions. I could hear them shouting to each other in rapid-fire Spanish, coordinating their attack.

My mind raced, desperate for a plan. We were outnumbered and outgunned, armed with nothing but our wits and the burning desire to survive. I scanned our surroundings, searching for anything that could give us an edge.

My gaze landed on the sleek black shapes of Romeo's vehicles parked a short distance away. An idea sparked in my brain, reckless and half-formed. It was a long shot, but what choice did we have?

---