Sprints faster than I’ve ever seen a human being move, dives, slides on his knees to me, grabs the chair and yanks so his body is between the gunman and me.
BANG-BANG-BANG!—BANG-BANG-BANG!
With each concussive report, Rev grunts, jerks. His body covers me, sheltering me. Taking the bullets for me.
Not a single instant of hesitation.
Silence.
Somehow, against what seems to be all laws of physics, common sense, human capacity for pain—Rev stands up.
Turns.
He’s growling.
“Fuck.” This is, I assume, Javier—I can’t see him, Rev is in the way.
“Warned you years ago about that fancy six-shooter, Javi.” A step forward; the vest he’s wearing is dotted with large holes where the rounds impacted and were stopped.
“You kill me, my father will—”
I never find out what his father will do. Rev hurls him at the windows, where he hits with a grunt and a thud against the glass. Rev still has his knife in his hand.
“Took…my…WOMAN!”he roars, the deafening volume of his shout making my ears ring.
“Rev—” It sounds like the start of a plea.
There’s a pearl-handled revolver on the floor—the fancy-ass six-shooter.
The knife flips in Rev’s hand, held in his fist with the blade facing down now—a breath, silence, tension.
And then Rev launches himself at Javier. Knife held high, bellowing his killing rage.
The knife descends, slicing through the air…
And stops, a millimeter from Javier’s eyeball.
Rev is face-to-face with Javier, nose to nose. Once more, Rev shouts, wordless, a mindless animal roar of blind rage, right in Javier’s face.
Javier’s pants go dark at the crotch, and there’s the scent of pee.
Rev turns away with a vicious bark of dark, amused laughter. Spins back, fist smashing into Javier’s face, ruining it. His head bounces off the glass.
Fisting his blazer, Rev hurls Javier to the side, up against a wall. Grabs his wrist, slams it up over his head, then the other, one hand slapping atop the other. The knife whispers through the air, drives through both hands and into the wall.
Javier screams weakly, sags, sobbing.
Rev turns away, staring into space, shoulders heaving slowly, deeply.
“Rev?” I call.
He snaps his head around. He’s still not there—it’s not Rev, yet. It’s the beast inside him.
“Cut me loose, baby.”
He shakes his head, growls. And just like that, he’s back. He prowls to me, reaching into a pocket of his cargos, producing a multitool, which he unfolds, using the wire cutter portion of the pliers to snip my wrists free, and then each ankle.
He remains on his knees in front of me. His deep brown eyes search me. “Myka. They hurt you.”
