Page 137 of Kneeling to Candy

As I take the shot, I watch as the bullet connects with his hand and exits out the other side. The knife he held falls into the snow at their feet. A beautiful scream of pain rips from the prick’s mouth. With his hand mangled, his hold on Candy slips. She pries herself away from his grasp, tumbling in the snow as she races down the decline toward me.

Instead of embracing my woman like I want, I charge past her the short distance up the incline toward O’Conall. Seeing me rush in his direction, Candy turns and races after me.

Desperate pleas slip from her cupid lips. “Butch, stop!”

Forgive my disobedience, Goddess. There’s no stopping.

This piece of shit hurt my woman. No one hurts what’s mine.

Wounding O’Conall is not enough. After everything he’s done, he doesn’t deserve an easy out.

Still gripping his injured hand, O’Conall isn’t prepared for my ambush. Using my good shoulder, I attack him head on, tackling him. A grunt of pain puffs out of him when he hits the ground with me on top of him.

Straddling his chest, I spin my Glock in my hand and rain down on him, pistol whipping his face, repeatedly. The bastard’s blood splashes me in the face from where I injure him. It doesn’t deter me, though. Instead, it ignites a beastly energy inside of me, fueling me to hurt him more.

When the blood coats my gun and hand makes me lose my grip, I drop the weapon, using my bare hands as battering rams instead. My knuckles crack from my assault, but I’m not hurting as much as I’m sure O’Conall is.

As I alternate my hits with my fists, I throw my weight behind my punches.

“YOU. CAN’T. HAVE. MY. WIFE!” I roar between hits.

Though I’m zeroed in on my target, I can faintly hear Candy and Ziggy in the background, pleading with me to stop. I can feel their hands on me, trying to stop my punches. But I can’t seem to end it.

Somehow Ziggy gets his arms around my torso, prying me away, still swinging.

“Butch, stop! You’ve proved your point.”

“No,” I mutter in a crazed growl, clawing at the air to get back to my kill.

Candy appears in front of me, her pink locks a tangled mess from the wind, ripped free of the hairpins. Tears streak her round cheeks. She places a soft yet firm hand around my neck, covering my scar.

Feeling her touch me there, my eyes home in on the clean slice along her throat—nowhere near as gruesome as mine, but deep enough she’ll likely have a scar, a mark to complement my own.

“Butch, look at me.”

My stare automatically meets Candy’s doe brown eyes at her command.

“It’s done.”

A groan from the bastard lying on his back in the snow and the sound of spittle says otherwise.

The three of us look towards O’Conall’s prone body. His limbs are moving, though sluggish. He coughs blood, trying to clear the river of it rolling down his sinuses and throat. With jerky motions, O’Conall rolls to his side, his eyes possibly focusing on us—hard to tell with the swelling growing on his face by the second.

The monster looks as ugly as he is on the inside.

He attempts to climb to his feet, falling back down in the snow.

“He can’t think he’s going to flee,” Ziggy mutters in disbelief. “Can he?”

When standing proves too hard a task, O’Conall switches gears, crawling up the incline to the mountain face.

“No,” I hiss through my teeth.

Candy’s hand squeezes a fraction around my throat, bringing me to heel.

Pleading with my eyes, I gaze at her. “Goddess, please.” But she shakes her head.

“Let me.” Candy stoops over, pulling my Glock free of the snow. Gracefully, she stands before she turns away from me, prowling after O’Conall up the incline.

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