Page 95 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“You’ve been a thorn in my bloody side.” Kentsworth eyed him with cold malice. “Now, it would appear you have a death wish.”
“If you pull that trigger, you will hang,” Jon said, deliberately calm. “Not a pleasant death, or so I’ve been told.”
“I’ll be long gone.” Kentsworth’s words held a note of false confidence. “And you will be—”
Jon lunged. “Run, Belle!” he ground out as his hands closed around the gun.
Fighting fiercely for control, Kentsworth tilted the barrel toward Jon’s torso. Toward his heart.
Jon blocked the trigger guard. Leveraging his weight, he forced the gun down. Away from his heart. Away from his chest. Battling to wrench the weapon from the cur’s hands, he held nothing back.
But Kentsworth fought hard. And he fought dirty, driving his elbow into Jon’s sore ribs.
By Hades, the pain!The blows came fast. And with agonizing fury. Dragging in a breath, Jon staggered to stay on his feet.
Suddenly, the cur’s strength seemed to surge. Kentsworth tore the revolver away. He raised the gun. Took aim.
Within Jon’s heart and mind, no fear registered. Only raw instinct.
God above, I will not fail her.
Jon reared back. His fist slammed into the bastard’s jaw. Rattling his teeth. Knocking the sneer from his mouth. Sending him into oblivion.
The gun clattered from Kentsworth’s hand to the floor below.
Bloody hell, it was done.Jon stared down at the unconscious man.He’d kept her safe.
Over his shoulder, he heard Kentsworth’s hired oaf mutter an epithet.Bugger it.Roderick was on his feet, lumbering towards him. Jon dragged in a low breath and braced himself for another round.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Belle. What in blazes was she up to? She crept quietly behind the hulking fool. Too blasted close for her own good.
Bloody hell, was that a skillet tucked behind her apron?
Run!The word played in his thoughts like a litany, but he couldn’t risk drawing the oaf’s attention to her.
“Back for more?” Jon taunted the man in deliberate distraction.
Roderick slipped a folding knife from his trouser pocket. With a flick of his wrist, light gleamed off the honed metal blade. “I’ll see ye dead, ye rotter.”
“Tough talk.” With a quick beckoning motion of his hands, he kept Roderick’s attention on him.
The hulking bastard sneered. “I’ll gut ye.”
Belle took a step back. She raised the iron frying pan in her hands.
And then, she swung the skillet as if it were a cricket bat. Straight at the bloke’s thick skull.
Roderick let out a sound of pain, more of a moan than a cry. Utterly dazed, he stared at Belle with dull eyes until his knees buckled.
He collapsed.
“Dear God, Jon,” she murmured. “Is he... is he alive?”
Jon rushed to her side and crouched at the big man’s side. His burly chest rose and fell with even breaths. “I doubt you’ve done him any lasting harm. He and Kentsworth will both live long enough to see the inside of the prison.”
“Well done, lass,” Logan’s hearty brogue announced his presence. He strode in, revolver in hand, his gaze darting to Roderick. “I was prepared to put this to use.” He smiled at Belle. “But damned if ye didn’t beat me to it.”
“Thank God you’re here,” Belle said. “Have you seen Carrie and Mrs. Gilroy?”
