He had another knife.
His free hand darted for his belt, and a new bladeflashed.
Then James—burned, bloodied James—was there. He ripped the knife from Elliot’s grip and drove it into his thigh.
Elliothowled, his body jerking and head snapping back as raw pain shot through him. His fingersclawed at James and at me, but we had himpinned.
James’s breaths wereshaky, his face twisted in pain, but his grip wassteadyas he twisted the knife.
Elliot’s bodybuckled. The bastard still hadone last move.
He reached for his lighter.
I saw it happening too late.
He wasgoing to ignite himself.
He wanted to burn to make the moment last forever. His fingers flicked the spark wheel—
It was a second too slow. Michael hit him like awrecking ball.
The lighterflewfrom Elliot’s hand, clattering across the pavement as his body snapped sideways. Michael tackled him withfull SWAT force, every ounce of his strength slamming into Elliot’s already battered frame.
The impact was brutal. I heard the air leave Elliot’s lungs in asharp, ugly wheezeas Michaeldrove him into the ground.
He didn’t stop there.
He twisted Elliot’salready brokenwrist behind his back, pressing his weight down, pinning him with the kindofpracticed precisionthat only came from years of taking down armed men.
Elliotshouted, his body bucking once before he laystill. His chestheaved, and his jaw clenchedso hardI thought his teeth might break, but he didn’t fight anymore.
Michael’s knee pressed harder between his shoulder blades.
“It’s over,” Michael ground out. His voice wascold—a warning, a death sentence, the kind of voice he used right beforepulling the trigger. “You move, and I break the other one.”
Elliotlaughed. Low, wet, choked. His bloodied lips curled, eyes unfocused from the pain.
“You think this is over?” His voice was raspy and raw from screaming. “The fire always comes back.”
Istaggeredto my feet, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
James was stillstanding, but barely. The flame had burned his shirt, his skin blistered, and his left arm was sticky with dryingblood. His hands trembled at his sides, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked on Elliot, dark and sharp.
Elliot saw it too. His grin widened, split andbleeding, but his voice came outsoft.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” His gaze flicked to James, somethinghorribleblooming behind his eyes. “Just for a second. You understand now.”
Jamesflinched—so small most wouldn’t have noticed, but I did. I stepped forwardfast, my bodyscreamingin protest, and shoved my boot into Elliot’s ribs.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He grunted, but that damn smile stayed.
Michael’s grip tightened. “I said it’s over.”
Elliottilted his head, gaze shifting to me. “Is it?”
I didn’t have an answer. The weight of everything hit me at once—Elliot,pinned and grinningthrough bloodied teeth, Michael’s kneedigging into his back, his griptight like a vise,and the knife stillburied in Elliot’s thigh, blood pooling beneath him.
