Page 102 of Mountain Daddy

I shrug. Start walking toward him. Slow. Measured steps.

“Stop!” His voice rises. Panic edging in. “I'll shoot her!”

“No, you won't.”

“I swear to God?—”

“You shoot her, you lose your leverage. Then I'll take you apart, joint by joint.”

I keep walking. Ten feet away now.

“I'm not bluffing,” he says.

“Neither am I.”

Five feet.

His nerve breaks. He swings the gun toward me.

I'm already moving. Ducking low. Driving forward.

The gun fires. Bullet whistles past my ear.

I crash into him. We hit the ground hard. The gun skitters away.

He's strong. Trained. A professional.

But I'm fighting for my family.

My fists connect with his face. Again. Again. Blood sprays. Bone cracks.

He gets a knee up. Drives it into my ribs. Pain explodes along my side.

I roll. He follows. Gets on top. Hands going for my throat.

I grab his wrists. Hold him off. But he's heavy. Determined.

His thumbs press into my windpipe. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

No. Not like this.

I buck.

Twist.

Get a leg free.

My boot connects with his groin. He howls. Grip loosens.

I surge upward. Reverse our positions. Now I'm on top.

My hands find his throat. Squeeze.

He thrashes. Claws at my face. Rakes bloody furrows down my cheek.

I squeeze harder.

Something hard hits the back of my head. Stars explode behind my eyes.

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