Page 77 of Silk and Steel

I didn’t think he would be able to get back up. He’s tougher than I thought. Or maybe he’s on something. His eyes are kind of bloodshot and bulging out. I decide I won’t be able to go as easy on him.

He launches into a series of rapid strikes. I catch a glancing blow on the temple, and then he spins into a roundhouse kickaimed at my midsection. Air explodes out of my lungs as I stagger back, pain spreading through my chest.

Growing more confident, he attacks again. He’s a lot faster than he looks, and he has a huge reach advantage. I can’t get past his striking limbs to land a decent blow.

Lovejoy drops levels and tries for a double leg takedown, something from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I raise my knee into his sternum and explode the air out of his lungs. I lift it again, this time catching him under the chin.

Lovejoy collapses to the ground, knocked out for about a second and a half. He rolls over onto his back and tries to get to his feet before falling back down. His face is a bloody mess, and his eyes are glazed and barely coherent.

“The name, Lovejoy.”

Suddenly, he gets a crafty look in his eye. He dives for the gun he’d discarded earlier. I hadn't realized we’d gotten so close to it. Did he do that on purpose, or was it just a happy accident?

In any event, I can’t reach him in time. But just when his hand closes on the gun, two shots ring out. Lovejoy bellows in agony, holding his bleeding hand to his chest. I turn to see Emory, smoke curling from the barrel of the gun.

“I…you said to do it,” she stammers.

“You did great, Emory. Thank you.”

I haul off and bust Lovejoy across the mouth again. He flops onto the ground, dazed. Seeking out his injured hand, I slam my boot down on top of it.

“You’d better tell me that name, Lovejoy. You terrorized Emory. That means hurting you doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Whippleton! It was fucking Whippleton, okay!”

I give his hand one last twist and then let up off of it. Snatching the pistol off the ground, I turn to face Emory.

“Whippleton…that name sounds familiar.”

“It should,” she says, realization dawning in her gaze. “It’s the name of Boys R Us’ agent. The one who fired me and kicked us off the lot…oh my god, he was setting us up for Julian and his crew!”

“It sure seems like it. What I don’t know is why.”

I stomp on Lovejoy’s hand again. He screams, clutching at my ankle with his good hand, but to no avail. I have all the leverage, leaning down and resting my elbow on my thigh so my body weight pins him down.

“Why is their agent helping you? What’s his stake?”

“I don’t know! He reached out to me, okay! He reached out to me!”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, okay, I did reach out to him first. He’s got a plan for the world tour, that’s all I know.”

I let off his hand and stroke my chin in thought. Lovejoy could be lying, but I don’t think he is. He has no real reason to lie at this point. Unless he’s telling me a bunch of bullshit just to stop the pain, which is why we’re not supposed to use torture in the field as SEALS, among other ethical concerns.

But I’m not an enlisted man anymore. I'm just a man who loves a woman, and this piece of dirt threatens her very existence.

It doesn’t matter if Whippleton is the one who started this whole thing in motion or not. The fact remains, Lovejoy is the threat.

I can take him back to prison. He’ll probably never get out again. Probably.

But the possibility will always be there, in the back of Emory’s mind. She’ll always have to carry that terror around with her, that sense of dread and fear.

I cannot allow that to happen. She deserves better, so much better.

Back when we were recruits, Jake and I discussed what it meant to kill on command. To dispense death because someone told us to.

But Jake said something that stuck with me. I can almost hear his voice.

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