Page 73 of The Chase

Colt pulled himself out of the car window, clinging to the roof to do so. The glass in the window was long gone.

“April? You okay?” he asked into the oddly deafening silence now.

“Yeah, I, oh, God, I’m okay, I’m okay-” she replied, wincing, but pulling herself out of the car through the smashed out window like he had.

“I’ll come around and help you,” he said, treading gingerly over the debris.

But then there was a roar.

A motorcycle, starting up.

Nearby.

Colt turned.

It was fucking Cleaver.

He sat on a bike, revving it, triumph in his eyes. He thought he was getting away.

“Colt! Get him!” April shrieked. Colt didn’t need to be told twice. Turning from April, he stalked toward Cleaver who was obviously thinking he was getting away. Cleaver was on a bike. Colt didn’t hesitate, didn’t think. He planted his feet firmly in the way. Cleaver would have to go right at him to get through the now mangled gate. Cleaver practically shrugged, a game of chicken, clearly he thought Colt was going to get out the way first. Run from him on the bike.

No fucking chance. A voice in his head yelled to him to run at it. Colt didn’t think. He felt pure rage. The animal in him roared.

Cleaver streaked closer.

The sound of the bike was loud.

Deafening.

Both men glared into each other’s eyes, they were that close now.

Colt lunged.

Cleaver’s eyes widened.

Colt clotheslined him off the bike with a mighty swipe, his fist connecting with Cleaver’s throat.

The bike slid away to join the remains of the gate, stuttering throatily.

Cleaver buckled to the ground, the air knocked out of him and struggling to breathe.

Colt was on him in a flash, fist flailing wildly. “You fucking dirty-”

“Colt, why won’t you just die already?” Cleaver wheezed.

The two men fought.

Cleaver, driven by the urge to run, to escape, he looked at Colt like he was the devil. His worst nightmare brought to life. Colt was driven by an all consuming urge to kill. Cleaver had taken one too many things from Colt. He’d taken his home, his place in the world, his brothers. Cleaver had nearly taken his woman, nearly done atrocious things. Hell, Cleaver had nearly taken the very skin off his back. It ended now.

Colt took a punch in the nose. And another to his kidneys. Shit.

Cleaver overplayed his advantage, though, surging forward. Colt used it, followed Cleaver’s momentum and crashed down on top of him. The two men kicked, Cleaver went for Colt’s eyes, throat. Colt pulled his head free.

Colt was on top.

Then Cleaver.

Then Colt.

---