Page 102 of Storm over the Caribbean
The thug stumbled forward, not so much from sufficient force to move him as from the engrained instinct all humans share to not have their ears ripped off. Without hesitation, Mr Ambrose’s knee came up, and…
Crack!
“Aaaaarrrr!”
Clutching his face, Cyclops staggered back, disoriented for a moment. And if there was one thing that could be said about my husband, it was that he knew how to grasp the moment. His foot slammed into the back of the muscle monster’s leg, and this time, he put all his force behind it.
“Son of a—!”
With an almighty crash, Cyclops slammed into the sand. Before he could get his bearings, Mr Ambrose was above him, raising his foot above the man’s hand.
“Be. Silent.”
His foot came down.
Crack!
“Aaaaanngraaawwwrgk!”
The anguished bellow rising to the sky made even me wince, safe as I was behind the palisade. I couldn’t help but momentarily avert my eyes. When I looked back again, it was just in time to see Cyclops rocketing up from the ground, his mouth foaming with rage.
“I’ll kill you! You piece of frigging shit!I’ll! Kill! You!”
He punched. Once again, Mr Ambrose ducked out of the way of his right hook—but not the left that was coming from the other side.
Wham!
Mr Ambrose sailed backwards through the air, straight towards the edge of the ring. But this wasn’t the kind of fight you could lose by crossing a line in the sand. The audience tightened around the ring until they stood shoulder by shoulder. Hands reached out to grab Mr Ambrose and push him back into the fight, booing and jeering. He stumbled forward—that is, until a meaty hand caught him by the lapels.
“You!” Cyclops squeezed out between his teeth, tightly clenched in pain, “You. Are. Going. Down!”
And he did. My fingernails dug into my palms as I watched Mr Rikkard Ambrose being slammed into the ground face first. Kneeling down, the behemoth pressed a knee into my husband’s back. Mr Ambrose bucked, trying to throw off his foe, but to no avail. The giant was sweating and bleeding, but not budging an inch.
“Nothing to say?” Cyclops growled. “Not so cocky now, are you?”
In answer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose twisted one arm free of the man’s hold and slammed it upwards, right between the giant’s legs.
Squeeelch!
“Eeeeeaaaaagh!”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose bucked. His muscles bulged. The massive giant was hurled aside and, in the blink of an eye, my dear husband was up and above him. They grabbed each other, wrestling and kicking and snarling. Well…Cyclops was snarling. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was fighting with a silent, cold ferocity that somehow was scarier than all the world’s worst threats and curses put together.
I watched anxiously as the two pummelled each other into the ground. My fingers twitched, wanting to strangle every single bloody man who cheered the goliath on and placed bets. Bets that, with every passing minute, started to be more and more in Cyclops’ favour. On the ground, where Mr Ambrose couldn’t get away from him, the big bastard could bring his full weight to bear. And while, under other circumstances, a sweaty Mr Rikkard Ambrose writhing on the ground might have been quite an interesting sight for me, right here and now, I hated every single second of it.
“Now,” Cyclops snarled, “you’re going to pay!”
And he wrapped one massive hand around my husband’s throat.
I had to clamp both hands over my mouth to keep myself from screaming. If there hadn’t been a wooden wall between us, I would have rushed forward and clobbered the bastard, pirates be damned! But as things stood, I could do nothing. Nothing but stare and try to murder the man with my eyes alone.
I was failing.
The big pirate bastard, on the other hand, was doing a fairly good job with murdering my husband.
“You see, now?” Cyclops growled. “You never had a chance! I’ve got you right where I want you!”
“What…a coincidence,” Mr Ambrose squeezed out with his last bit of air. Through eyes narrowed ever so slightly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stared up at his foe. “So…do I.”
