Page 71 of Welded Defender
Then something clicks inside me like a key turning in a rusted lock. A memory surfaces—Ravi’s patient voice echoing in the oil-scented garage, his calloused hands adjusting my stance:Square your hips. Keep your weight centered. His size doesn’tmatter if you use momentum. And don’t hesitate—you only get one second.
I rise slowly, hands lifted, palms crimson and sticky with Landon’s blood. My heart pounds so hard I think it might crack my sternum, each beat thundering in my ears. “Okay,” I whisper, taking a careful step away from Landon’s crumpled form. My shoes leave bloody prints on the ground. “Okay, I’ll come.”
Brett’s eyes gleam with the wet, hungry shine of a predator. He lowers the gun just a fraction, the barrel tilting toward the blood-spattered floor, and reaches for me with his free hand, thick fingers splayed. “That’s my girl.”
My stomach twists like a wrung dishrag, acid burning the back of my throat, but I force my face to soften. Let him believe it. One more step. Just close enough that I can smell the stale coffee on his breath, see the yellow crust at the corners of his bloodshot eyes.
When his fingers brush my arm, hot and possessive through the thick fabric of my sleeve, I snap into motion like a coiled spring finally released.
I slam my heel down on his instep, grinding the hard edge against the delicate bones beneath his worn leather shoe. He yelps—a high-pitched sound I’ve never heard from him before—and staggers sideways. In that split second of surprise, I drive my elbow hard into his ribs, feeling the satisfying give of flesh exactly like Ravi drilled into me. The gun jerks in his hand, then clatters to the floor with a metallic scrape. I don’t think; I just pivot and kick it, my toe connecting with cold steel, sending it skidding across the shop’s concrete floor until it disappears under the workbench.
Brett snarls, doubling over. “You bitch?—”
I don’t let him finish. I bring my knee up fast, catching him in the gut. He grunts and folds, but his hand claws at my jacket, trying to drag me down with him.
“Not this time,” I grit out, twisting the way Ravi showed me. His grip slips. I shove him backward, adrenaline flooding me with strength I didn’t know I had. He slams into the lift with a crash of metal tools.
The front door explodes inward with a splintering crack, hinges screaming as it slams against the wall. Three officers surge through, weapons drawn, faces hard as granite beneath their caps.
“Police! On the ground, now!”
Red and blue lights strobe against the grimy shop windows, painting Brett’s sweat-slick face in alternating demonic hues as he whirls, eyes wild like a trapped animal.
Becket barrels in right behind the uniforms, his gaze locking on me first, then shifting to Landon sprawled in a pool of red.
“Jesus Christ—” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t hesitate. He lunges for the counter, sending a plastic cup of pens clattering to the floor as he grabs a clean shop rag from the stack by the register. He drops to his knees beside Landon with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s witnessed trauma before, folding the blue cloth into a thick pad.
Two officers pin Brett against the wall, his boots scraping black marks across the linoleum as he struggles. His face twists with fury, spit flying from his lips as he screams obscenities. A third officer speaks rapidly into his shoulder radio, the crackling response promising an ambulance within minutes.
My legs buckle, and I collapse beside Landon. His face has drained of color, lips pressed into a tight line, sweat gathering on his forehead. Each breath comes in shallow, terrifying gasps.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, clutching his hand in mine. It feels so cold. “Please, Landon, stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me.”
His eyes flutter, struggling to focus. “Marcy…”
“I’m right here.” My tears spill over, landing warm against his cold skin. “Don’t talk. Just hold on. The ambulance is almost here. You’re going to be fine.”
He shakes his head weakly, eyelids heavy. “Scared you’d… get hurt.”
A sob tears through me. “I’m fine. You protected me. Now let us protect you, okay? Just—just stay alive. That’s all you have to do.”
His chest rises and falls beneath my hands, each breath weaker than the last, like waves pulling back from shore. I lean close until my forehead touches his, his skin damp and cold against mine.
“I love you,” I choke out, the words scraping my throat raw.
His cracked lips part, releasing the faintest thread of air—not quite a word, just a whisper of breath that grazes my tear-wet cheek like a butterfly’s wing. His lashes flutter, dark crescents against his pale skin. I can’t tell if he heard me, if he understood.
Sirens shriek closer, their piercing wail rising and falling, cutting through the shop’s thin walls. Red and blue lights pulse across his motionless face, bathing him in ghostly colors.
All I can do is hold him, my blood-slicked fingers pressed against the jagged wound in his chest, feeling each heartbeat weaken beneath my palms, and plead with the man who’s become my beacon in the darkness not to fade away.
CHAPTER 40
Landon
The beeping is the first thing that cuts through the fog. Not a clock. Not a truck’s turn signal. It’s thinner, higher, and goddamned annoying.
My eyelids feel like someone glued nickels to them, but I pry them open anyway. A rectangle of ceiling tile stares back at me. A fluorescent panel glows with a halo I don’t like. The air tastes like saline and lemon disinfectant. I try to swallow, and my throat protests—desert dry, all sand and splinters.
