Gray laughed. "So it's not your own skin you're worried about. It's hers."
"You'll let her go?" said Jason. "Our deal?"
"Sorry, you broke our deal when you came here before the appointed time. She's coming with us—additional insurance, shall we say."
"What?" He could hardly get it through his mind what had happened, though he knew it had been likely; he'd had a small window of opportunity to get the upper hand, and it had backfired.
"Of course, you could stop this right now, if you give me what I want. Where is the weapon?"
"I'd never give it to someone like you."
"Oh, no?"
Gray circled him. Then, his eyes locked on Jason's; they were no longer cold; the heat of anger flashed across them. He kicked Jason in the stomach and he doubled over; he barely caught his breath before another kick slammed into his side. He tried to catch his fall, but landed on his left arm, sending a shockwave through his shoulder, which had never quite healed from being stabbed and dislocated. He tried not to show his weakness in front of his enemy, but couldn't help but gasp in pain.
"Some of my handiwork, I see." He stepped on Jason's arm, pinning it to the floor. "A lot of your scars are still healing; those are the places I'll have to focus on."
Gray set his boot down on Jason's hand. Ground his heel into it.
Fire burned through his hand, sending a million shards of pain through every nerve. He was unable to hold back a cry of pain.
"Stop it!" said Connie. She stepped off the chair; staggered as her broken ankle faltered. She dragged herself over beside Jason, her hand on his shoulder, kneeling in front of Gray. "Please, stop."
"What will you do in return? Will you undergo the same things I planned for him?"
She bowed her head. "Anything." A tear slipped down her cheek.
"It's true; it will probably be more painful for him to see your suffering." He withdrew his knife from his belt. A large, serrated blade.
As Jason lay on the floor, agony overwhelming his mind, Gray grabbed Connie's hair. Pulled her head back, and lowered the knife.
Something snapped inside Jason. Awareness flooded back into him. And rage. A yell built deep in his throat, and he let it out as leaped to his feet. He lunged for Gray, hitting him in the jaw; Gray lost his grip on the knife, and it clattered to the ground. Jason laid into him with his fist, punching his jaw, his lip, the bullet wound. Gray fell to the floor; Jason only continued his onslaught.
Then, Gray's elbow hit him in the chest again. The pain that exploded through him almost hurled him back, but he recovered, and grabbed Gray around the neck.
Gray gasped for air, struggled; Jason wouldn't let him go.
"Jason," came a voice, somewhere in the distance. "Jason—" more insistent.
"What?"
"You have to stop—he can't breathe," said Connie.
Awareness flooded back into him and he let up the pressure on Gray's throat. Gray gasped, barely conscious.
"I've got his gun," said Connie. "Here."
"Thanks." Jason slid it into his pocket; he'd give it to the police for evidence when they came. Jason didn't want any chance that this man could get away with what he'd done.
Connie held Jason's gun (though he wasn't sure she knew how to use it) and he bound Gray hand and foot with layers of duct tape. For good measure, Jason stuck a piece over his mouth; having regained consciousness, Gray's eyes stabbed him with murderous thoughts.
Then, Jason sat in the chair, and, taking a deep breath, grasped the blade that was still embedded in his leg.
"What are you doing?" said Connie.
"I—have to get this out."
"What if it hit an artery or something?"
"Then I'd be bleeding a lot more."
He pulled; she turned away. He tossed the blade to the floor with a 'clink'.
"Do you have a cloth of some sort?" he asked, pressing down on the wound.
"Um—here." She unzipped her coat, ripped off a piece from the inside lining, and handed it to him. He bound the strip of cloth tightly around his thigh.
Jason called the police, filling them in, while Connie revealed the valuable piece of information that the door would blow up if someone tried to go through it.
After calling Tasha, who said she'd be there as soon as possible, he knelt beside Connie as she sat in one of the chairs. He inspected her ankle, careful not to hurt it any more than it was.
She leaned over. "It looks swollen, even from here. Makes me feel sick just looking at it."
"Then don't look at it."
She nodded.
"Are you okay otherwise?" he asked.
"I guess so. Except…I haven't had anything to eat or drink since yesterday."
"We'll get you home. I'll get you anything you want to eat. Anything."
"How about ice cream from Italy? Or…cheese from Switzerland?"
He laughed softly. "I'm not Superman, you know."
She smiled. "Really? Here I thought you were, in disguise."
"If I were, I'd've flown here, broken you out a long time ago."
He took her hand in his. She was safe. For now, nothing else mattered.
