Page 23 of Hunted, Season Three

I tenaciously fling my arms around hoping to break his hold or his focus.

Slap his forearm.

Land another kick to his leg.

Dick.

Somewhere.

Anywhere.

“You don’t breathe…” the tips of his fingers flex to the point I can feel him practically crushing my windpipe, “he doesn’t breathe…”

Tears begin lining the rims of my eyes as choked gasps shake my entire frame, echoing his claim.

Reiterating I have to make the choice.

That now is the only time I havetomake a choice.

I can either surrender and live to have the baby or fight and kill us both.

I choose death.

Death over terror.

“Kill,” comes out in a gravelly whisper.“Me.”

“Not while we’re alive, Rabbit,” Mutt unexpectedly announces at the same time he wields a crowbar at Brad’s face.

Unsurprisingly,The Nightmare on Wallstreetmanages to block the blow with his free hand.Due to that choice, he has none left to protect himself from The Kid swinging bolt cutters into the side of his ribcage.Brad hisses, releases my neck, and makes a move to retaliate, leavingme open to return to the fight.The tip of my foot successfully nails him in the dick split seconds prior to Mutt executing an uppercut.Fumbling headfirst to the ground transitions from being a possibility to guaranteed courtesy of my other boyfriend thrashing his tool directly into our assailant’s throat, likely splitting his vocal cords.

“Don’t scream, motherfucker,” Nolan growls as Brad looks up at us, clearly struggling to breathe.

“You might need that air,” taunts The Kid from the opposite side of his twitching body.

Each male stomping down on an arm to insure he stays immobile precedes Nolan shooting me a cheeky smirk.“You started without us, Rabbit.That’s fucked up.”

Relief that I can physicallyseethat he’s alive and alive enough to call me the nickname I know I’d miss despite my initial resistance to it effortlessly pulls the corners of my lips up to the moonlit sky.“You’d be late to your own funeral, Mutt.”

“How about a thank you for being early to what could’ve been yours?”

“Thank you,” instantly and genuinely springs free, gaze swiveling between the two of them to indicate the message is for both.

“Better,” grumbles the man I wouldn’t want any other way.

“Always,” Kid bashfully murmurs, cheeks tinting on a bit of a blush, as though he can’t handle the praise.

Oh, when this is over, he’ll be gettingso much praise.

We all will.

“And as for you…” my heel slams directly on top of his bent knee prompting him to twitch upward in additional agony, “I told you, you’d be leaving here in pieces.”Repeating the action causes an audible crack to echo throughout the woods.“I meant it.” I extend the palm of my non-injured wrist outward towards my older boyfriend.“Crowbar.”

Thankfully, the toss is easy to catch with my offhand and so is hammering down on the obviously fractured space.

This time there’s no screaming attached to my swinging.

No cathartic cries or howls.

---