This is a fan fiction request by JasminJW hope it's as good as you hope it'll be and you won't be disappointed.
Mick Taylor gave an evil chuckle at Eve who was lying on the floor, so sure of himself, so confident that he had won and that she was finally his to do with whatever he pleased.
"What are you going to do with that girlie?" He asked taunting her, his voice sounded distorted to her like it was underwater. Her head was swimming and she room spun as she reached for the fire poker, her vision blurred and wobbly. Mick never suspected Eve to stand up and launch the fire poker at him like a javelin through the air.
He yelled out in pain looked down at the metal shaft protruding out of his body. He stared at Eve with evil intent, she stared right back. Mick tried to tiptoe to relieve his heavy weight off of the fire poker and trying to relieve the pain.
"I'm going to bleed you out, this one's for my family" She croaked her voice dry and horse before stabbing him, Mick groaned in agony, his eyes blurred through the pain, being defeated by a woman was defiantly not how he intended in dying, just the indignity of it made him want to keep on fighting.
"This one's for Sullivan" She yelled stabbing him again, Mick called out in pain, his breath fast and irregular and ragged and he could hear his heart beating blood pounding in his ears. His whole life flashed before him the accidental death of his sister, his service time as a soldier in Vietnam and his whole murdering carer. Slowly Mick's head drooped to the side; Eve stood and watched the wooden cabin slowly be engulfed in flames she felt numb as she dropped the knife to the ground and staggered out of the wooden building. Knowing he was dead had brought some relief but it hadn't healed her sense of loss, she had still lost her parents and nothing was going to bring them back.
Inside the log cabin the heat of the small fire by Mick's legs shocked Mick back into consciousness; he looked down and saw three protruding objects out sticking out of his torso. His eyes wide with panic, he looked around and saw the room engulfed in flames and loosed down at the burning sensation by his legs.
'Fuck, shit, fuck' he thought to himself, he cursed himself for being outwitted, he had survived for years outwitting the Vietcong soldiers in conflicts of Vietnam and avoided his fair share of narrow squeaks nearly being caught in his lifetime and now he had been outwitted by a woman, not even a woman a fucking teenage girl. He needed to get out of this he needed to find a way out of this, being burnt to death was defiantly not his death of choice. Screwing his eyes shut he grabbed the smallest impaling object in his hand and slowly pulled, he groaned as the object finally began to pull loose, he gasped and breathed heavily as he looked at the freed object and threw it to the floor. Sweat began to cover his forehead as he grabbed the next and quickly pulled it out and threw it to the floor; blood began trickling from the wounds.
"Fuck" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of a blood covered hand. He examined the wounds; hopefully they hadn't hit anything important he thought to himself. Pulling out the last impaled steak he fell to the floor on to his hands and knees, he gasped and wheezed with raspy breaths as he tried to get his breath back, one hand holding one of the wounds. He scrambled to his feet; all Mick could feel was pure rage and a massive sense of defeat.
He had to think of how to make it look like he had died in the fire, he grabbed the poker and jammed it back into the wall, giving the impression that his body had been engulfed in flamed and been burnt to a crisp. Mick turned round he could hear footsteps, he clenched his fists to deal with the pain as he bent down to retrieve his knife off the ground and as quick as he could he staggered behind a wall. Eve had returned to verify his death to make sure that he was gone for good. She looked around and saw nothing but the poker jammed into the wall, she sighed with relief. 'Mick Taylor was gone, gone for good' she thought to herself. Feeling a sense of relief and victory she staggered out of the building never to return. She had done what she set out to do she had killed the man who had killed her parents.
Mick threw his head back against the wall and groaned with his eyes closed, he felt weak and wobbly on his feet with the amount of pain he was in, part of him just wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and embrace the pain and the death that would follow, but Mick Taylor wasn't a man to just give up, he had never given up in his life so why should he now. He had suffered so much in his lifetime; things that would have defeated an average man years ago, many men wouldn't have survived one of Mick's hardships he had endured let alone all of them. Why should he just curl up and die when Eve thought he was already dead? Now was a chance to get away and escape and fingers crossed carry on living. He refused to be beaten down and defeated by a mere girl.
Slowly Mick slid down the wall and onto the cold ground, he groaned as he rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes, he couldn't remember the last time he had been in so much pain 'Probably the hammer to the head by that pommie bastard' he thought to himself 'That fucker hurt, fucker almost cracked his skull' He smiled to himself at the thought of that conquest, he had won that battle the Englishman had been no match for him. He had been able to start a new life, setting Paul up with the murders. The police had suspected him and Mick had been able to go away scot free. Maybe he was getting rusty in his old age?
He could feel his red chequered shirt become sticky and hot with blood he knew these wounds were bad and he was losing blood. He looked at his knife and knew what he needed to do, grabbing his lighter he held it under the knife until the blade glowed red. He held the red glowing bowie knife to one of the wounds, it sizzled as it hit his tender flesh and hot sticky blood, Mick gritted his teeth in pain and grunted in pain, his eyes blurred and he felt like he was about to pass out from the pain by the time he moved to the second. Sweat covered his face and ran down his neck, he was breathing heavily, by the time he did the last exit and entrance wound his head fell to the side into unconsciousness.
His consciousness was short lived; he groaned and heaved himself up, resting himself against the wall, he had to get outside to his truck. If he could just get as far as a house maybe he would be alright, using the wall for support he staggered down the corridors and through rooms to get outside. The warm outback air seemed cold to him, he started to shiver as he opened the truck door and heaved himself in. His hands shook as he reached to the passenger seat and grabbed his bottle of rum and took a long swig to keep out the cold.
Mick's hands were slippery on the key as he started the truck; all he needed to do was get to a house he thought to himself. As he drove down a dusty road through the outback, he blinked furiously to clear his vision he was feeling light headed and it took him all his willpower not to crash the truck. 'At least most of the fucking bloods stopped' He thought to himself but it didn't make his injuries hurt any less, if felt like his whole torso was on fire. His wounds stung and burnt every time he moved, Mick drove for what seemed like hours he could feel unconsciousness wave over him, however just as his eye site began to distort the dusty wasteland that lay before him suddenly he thought he saw something in the distance, a house? He stopped the truck a good distance away and staggered towards it; he held his hands over two of the wounds, grunting with determination to reach the figure in the distance.
Mick got closer as he staggered across the sand, his torso bent over and trying his best not to fall over, the closer he got the more relieved he felt as he realised it was a house. Mick felt triumphant and felt a sense of victory he couldn't help but chuckle to himself, 'He had made, it, he'd fucking made it' He cheered with relief to himself. Eve had thought she had killed him but she was wrong, he was still very much alive. Mick went up to the door.
Mick being Mick would normally have burst in, kicking the door in not caring for people's property and ordering the owners to do what he told them too, but giving his current condition kicking in a wooden door seemed virtually impossible, and being injured already he didn't fancy breaking in and getting a barrel load of buck shot in his chest to add to his everlasting list of injuries. Mick knew he could survive a lot of things, he had survived a lot of things but a shotgun to the chest well he'd have to be God to survive that, Mick was arrogant but he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could survive that, so follow his pride he had to, so Mick had no other choice but to knock on the door before collapsing in a untidy heap on the porch before slipping into unconsciousness. Everything went black.
Eve stumbled across the outback tired and exhausted, all of her muscles ached and her wounds stung but she felt triumphant she had killed the man who had killed her parents. Her mind was foggy as she walked further and further trying to find help she had ran out of water long ago. Her eyesight blurred and her vision swayed from side to side as if she were drunk. She couldn't remember how long she had been walking, longer than a day she was pretty sure as she had spent at least one night propped under a tree. Visions flashed in her mind of her parents getting killed, of her killing Mick pretty soon all of her visions blurred together in a confusing blur of incidents pretty soon she forgot the correct order of them and what really happened. The heat was getting to her it was driving her mad what she wouldn't do for a drink, her mind swirled facts and memories became mixed up and disoriented she saw a house in the distance before collapsing to the ground into unconsciousness.