Page 65 of Bucked Hard

“I don’t hate you.” It’s the truth, I feel nothing for him. Not a wisp of family loyalty, pity, hate or connection.

Nothing.

My indifference is as solid as the cold lead I wish I could drive through his skull.

Five feet separates us. I’m on all fours, and I dig the heel of my right boot into the dirt, the toe of my left taking the weight as I shift forward. My fingers dig into the wet ground and every muscle fiber pulses with adrenaline.

I swear I smell her fear and there are ways I wish to hurt him that would make the devil proud.

I explode forward the moment I see their silhouettes shift another step toward the corner of the house. Every inch of my height fills the space between us, and I catch a handful of Leander’s pant leg as Rachel stamps her boot down on his other foot.

He releases her with a grunt, but I’m on my belly, helpless as the first blunt explosion of pain hits me in the center of my back.

“Run!” I scream.

“No!” Rachel’s horrified voice hits me at the same moment the second blow hits the center of my back. I flip over just as Leander raises a knife for a third try, my eyes are unfocused and all I see is the moon on the silver blade as it comes down.

My hands find his wrist but it’s too late. I slow down his momentum, but the knife hits me in the center of my chest. He’s struggling to dig it in farther, but my hands strain at his wrist, the implement hitting solid bone as Leander’s lips twist along with the blade.

“You had everything, I had nothing. Why did you have to try to take her?” Leander drops down on top of me, smashing a knee into my throat and I see stars.

“Run, Rachel,” I manage to croak out as the pain courses through my body. I shift and reach up, digging into his arm, but I feel like I’m drowning with his weight on my throat.

He’s going to kill me but that thought is vague. All I care about is making sure that he dies with me and never touches her again.

“Don’t,” I whisper, looking up to see Leander’s dead eyes trained on me, my hands gripping his wrist as he lifts the knife over my chest pressing down as I’m pushing up.

I’m flinging my body back and forth, but his knee is crushing my windpipe. I’m big, but he’s bigger, near four hundred pounds centered on my throat.

My mind is spinning. Rachel comes up behind Leander, screaming and tearing at his hair. I don’t want her here, God please, I don’t want her to see this.

In the same moment, stomping footsteps come from my left.

“That knife moves another inch…” The barrel of a shotgun comes into view above me, pressing into Leander’s temple. “…and I blow your brains out.”

Enrique’s voice startles me as he pulls the barrel back a couple inches, then slams it forward into the side of Leander’s face, throwing him off balance for a split second.

I throw my legs in the air, get a better grip on his arm, then tighten my core, slamming my legs down into the dirt and tugging Leander with me.

He is enormous. Not strong or agile, but he has all his weight bearing down on me.

I have to twist, grabbing his arm and jerking it out of the socket with a pop. Rachel stumbles back into the grass.

In two seconds Leander’s on the ground, looking up at me and Enrique. He writhes, holding onto his arm, sucking air through his teeth and blasting me with obscenities.

Enrique presses the steel barrel into the meat of his cheek, but Leander isn’t showing any fight. In the end, he’s just a coward.

I glance at Enrique and he looks up at me with that broad smile like someone had just told him something hilarious.

“Go get your girl.” He taps Leander on the top of his head with the metal barrel, making him yelp. “I’ll keep this dog on a chain.” He chuckles as I try to catch my breath. “You gonna need a Band-Aid or something, brah. And now, we’re square. You saved my life, I saved yours.”

ChapterTwenty-Three

Chad

Enrique slow clapped along with the rest of us as Sheriff Tucker pulled out of the farm driveway with Leander stuffed into the back of the patrol car.

The EMS truck follows right behind, Rachel insisted the paramedics came to check me out, which they did. Some butterfly bandages, some cleaning up but I’ll live. I’m sure most rational people would have taken their free ride to the hospital, but around here, we’d rather bite down on a leather strap and gut it out. Leander’s knife was blunt as a butter knife, so it hurt like a mother fucker, but it didn’t go deep. The knife lefts cuts, nothing deep, so I’m staying right here. Leander’s not stealing anymore of my time from my girl.

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