"You're right, Tommy. It doesn't have to get ugly." I step into the open space, letting him see me. "You can come out like a man and take what's coming to you."
A shadow moves behind the machinery, and I track it with my eyes. He's trying to circle around, probably hoping to get behind me. Too bad I've got backup he doesn't know about.
"Or what? You gonna kill me right here? That's not your style, Devil. You're one of the good guys, remember?"
If only he knew how wrong he was about that. I've killed before, and I'll kill again if it means protecting what's mine. The badge hidden at home doesn't change that. If anything, it makes it worse because I know exactly how to make a body disappear without a trace.
"My style's evolved," I growl, moving closer to his position. "Especially when it comes to protecting my family."
That's when he makes his move. Tommy comes charging out from behind the machinery like a bull, head down, all rage and no strategy. Classic Tommy, all brawn, no brains. I sidestep his charge and catch him with an elbow to the ribs that doubles him over.
He recovers faster than I expected, swinging wildly as I duck out of his reach. One catches me on the shoulder, sending a shock of pain down my arm, but I've had worse. Much worse.
I grab his wrist as another punch comes my way and twist, hearing the satisfying pop of his joint stretching past its limit. His scream echoes through the warehouse, but he doesn't go down. Instead, he drives his knee up toward my gut.
I twist away, but not fast enough. His knee catches me in the side, right over old scar tissue from a knife wound that never healed quite right. Stars explode behind my eyes, and I stumble backward.
Tommy presses his advantage, throwing his weight into me and driving me back against a concrete pillar. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and for a second I can't breathe. That's all the opening he needs.
His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Then another to my ribs. I taste blood and know I'm in trouble. Tommy might be a coward, but he's not small, and desperation is making him fight like his life depends on it.
Which it does.
I duck under his next swing and drive my shoulder into his midsection, wrapping my arms around his waist and driving him backward. We crash into a stack of old pallets, wood splintering around us as we go down hard.
I end up on top and take advantage, driving my fist into his face once, twice. Blood spurts from his nose, but he bucks his hips and throws me off balance.
We roll, grappling for position, and suddenly he's got something in his hand. A piece of broken wood from the pallets, jagged and sharp as a spear.
He swings it at my head, and I roll away just in time. The improvised weapon sparks against the concrete where my skull was a second ago.
"Should've minded your own business, Devil," he snarls, swinging again.
This time I can't get completely clear. The wood rakes across my forearm, leaving a burning line of pain and torn fabric. But I manage to grab his wrist before he can pull back for another swing.
We struggle for control of the weapon, both of us bleeding now, both of us knowing that whoever wins this particular battle is going to walk away, and the other isn't.
Tommy's stronger than I gave him credit for, or maybe adrenaline is giving him an edge. The point of the wooden spear inches closer to my throat as we strain against each other.
That's when I hear the footsteps.
Tommy hears it too and his eyes go wide as Ransom appears behind him like a ghost. But instead of being grateful for the backup, Tommy's face twists with rage.
"Fucking coward," he spits. "Can't even finish this yourself."
"Let him go, Tommy," Ransom says, his voice steady and calm. Professional. "Put the weapon down and this ends here."
Tommy laughs, a sound with no humor in it at all. "You think I'm stupid? I know what happens to people who cross Devil. I've seen the bodies."
He's not wrong about that, but he's wrong about what's going to happen next. I catch Ransom's eye over Tommy's shoulder and shake my head slightly. This is my fight. My mess to clean up.
But Tommy takes the momentary distraction to press his advantage. The wooden point inches closer to my throat, and I can feel my strength starting to give out. The blood loss from my arm, the beating I've taken, it's all catching up to me.
"Should've stayed out of my territory," Tommy growls. "Should've let me run my business in peace."
"Your business involved selling to kids," I manage to get out between gritted teeth. "That was never going to fly."
"Spare me the moral high ground bullshit. We both know what you really are."
