Page 67 of It Happened on the Lake

“Swear it!”

“She won’t like it.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Another shake, this time Rand was pulled off his feet, his hat slipping off.

Rand saw red.

His military training kicked in.

He caught the offensive wrist with one hand. Ready to swing with the other. “Let go of me,” he ordered through lips that barely moved. Anger blistered through him, every muscle tense, ready to explode.

“Just promise.”

“Let go!” Rand drew his arm back, fist cocked.

“Damn it—”

Rand swung.

Hard.

Bam!

His fist smashed into Chase’s jaw with a loud crunch.

Pain burst through his knuckles.

Chase’s knees buckled.

He let out a pained groan.

As he crumpled, his fingers loosened, releasing his grip on Rand’s jacket.

As his feet hit the ground, Rand stumbled backward. His high-tops slipped at the edge of the ravine, kicking out gravel that tumbled over the edge, raining into the black chasm and the river far below.

Shit!

He teetered for a second.

Falling backward.

No!

In desperation, he flung his body forward, hitting the ground hard.

His fingers dug into the wet earth, finding weeds and shards of gravel.

The night seemed to close in on him.

Nearby, Chase, still stunned, was struggling to a sitting position. Breathing raggedly, he propped his back against a blackened stump. “Fuck.” Rubbing his jaw, he focused on Rand still gasping for breath at the chasm’s edge. “You little cocksucker.” Zeroing in on Rand, he forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Even in the weak moonlight, Rand saw that Chase’s face was twisted into a mask of rage, his lips pulled back, nostrils flared.

Oh shit.

This wasn’t over.

Rand rolled over, forcing himself upright. To the balls of his feet. In fighting position. Ready to lunge.

If he had to.

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