Page 15 of Striking Out In The Mountains

Cara

“We need backup,” I say as we step out of the car and face the massive brawl outside of the old worn-down bar with the gray faded wood and the bright neon signs.

“Emmanuel is coming,” Henry says as he pulls out his club.

“We need at least another dozen units,” I say as I pull my club out with my heart pounding. I cringe when I see someone getting punched in the jaw and dropping to the pavement.

“Small town, Cara,” he says with a shrug. “We work with what we got and this is all we’ve got.”

He runs into the mob and starts swinging his club, trying to break it up.

“What the hell?” I mutter as I watch him go. That is not police protocol in any town anywhere in the world. I don’t know what that is.

I spot a biker close by who’s about to nail some college boy from behind with a stool. “Hey!” I shout as I rush over and grab it.

And just like that, I’m absorbed into the brawl.

The biker turns around and throws a haymaker that grazes my chin, so I hit him in the ribs with my club. He drops the stool, but someone kicks me from behind.

I go flying and roll onto the ground before popping back up with my hands clenched into fists. I lost my club.Shit.

Another biker swings at me and hits me in the temple. I stumble back, dazed for a second as he comes forward for another shot. Someone else breaks a beer bottle over his head and he drops to a knee before he can hit me again.

I knee him in the face and then turn him around, grabbing his wrist as I take out my handcuffs.

“You’re under arrest,” I say as I cuff his wrist.

A massive Jeep screeches to a stop in the parking lot. Emmanuel jumps out wearing nothing but pajama pants. He’s not even wearing shoes! I spot a few dozen zip ties sticking out of his pocket.

“What the hell?” I whisper as he charges into the battle with a booming war cry. He looks gigantic with a shirt on, but his torso looks like it was designed by CGI now that he’s shirtless. Good lord.

I cuff the other guy’s wrist and then stand up, breathing hard as chaos ensues all around me.

I spot a biker waving a knife at another biker, so I rush over, pushing two guys out of the way as I go.

“Freeze!” I shout as I pull out my taser. “Drop the knife.”

He growls as he turns to me, swinging the deadly knife around. When he takes a step toward me, I shoot him with the taser, dropping him. He shakes and seizes up as he hits thepavement, but before I can cuff him, someone grabs me in a headlock from behind.

“Fuck,” I grunt as he squeezes my neck and whips me around. I grab his leg, lift him up, and slam him onto the pavement. I learned that move in police training.

But it’s not enough. He holds on through the impact, squeezing my neck with an iron grip.

A siren rings out and I’m happy that we’re going to have some backup until I realize it’s not a cop siren. It’s the firefighters.

I’m starting to get lightheaded as he continues squeezing my neck. I’m pulling his arm with all my might, which is allowing a little bit of air to get through, but it won’t keep me awake for long. I don’t have much leverage from this angle.

I see the firetruck rolling into the parking lot as the edges of my vision begin to blur.

There are people fighting all around me. I have no idea where Henry or Emmanuel are. I have seconds until I pass out.

Then I see him.

Graham West leaps off the firetruck and runs over. He pushes someone out of his way, sending them flying onto their ass as he comes for me.

He slams his fist into the man holding my neck, landing four hard punches. The arm goes loose around my neck and I yank it off, taking a deep breath of sweet glorious air.

“Thank you,” I say as I look up at him, my voice as hoarse as a three-pack-a-day smoker.

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