Into The Light
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Thirty-Five
Moving was proving to be nearly impossible, even with the threat of capture at any given moment. It was difficult but Trixie kept walking, going as fast as she possibly could, listening intently for any sound around her. Thank goodness there was nothing but the quiet of the night. She shivered against the cool air, wishing she had something to cover her bare arms, even that blasted sweater of Di's. She held her left side, rubbing it lightly as if she could massage away the hurt, and then noticed a large stick laying on the ground. It took an effort but she bent down and picked it up, leaning on it like it was a cane, and deciding that it could double as a weapon, too, if the need should arise. It helped her move a little faster and took some of the pressure off her left side. Biting her lip, she wondered what she had done to her ribs when she had collided with that damn tree. Broken, bruised, cracked…she didn't know but it had to have been one of them. It couldn't have happened at a worse time. How she wished she could go back and relive those few seconds. She would have been much more careful. She swore at the memory of her own haste and subsequent folly, making a mental promise to herself that if she got out of this alive, she would remember to be more cautious and to at least look before she jumped into any situation.
Then she heard the soft, insistent sounds that could only have been made by sneakered feet. He was coming up on her faster than she expected. She hadn't been successful in keeping him down for long. Trixie paused and looked around wildly, forgetting about the cold and her injury, desperately seeking someplace to hide, someplace where he wouldn't think to look for her. Glancing to the left she saw the edges of a small riverbank and could hear the low murmuring of the creek running through it. No good. She would never be able to make it down there in time. Ahead were a few boulders. Not enough coverage for her. To the right sat her best shot, a deep grove of thick trees. Ignoring the painful pull in her side, she scurried over as fast as her injury would allow and disappeared into the shadows of the trees. She hid behind the largest trunk of the trees, with the long, black shadows serving as her only covering, and buried her face in her hands, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see her. Everything around her seemed to still. She couldn't hear any other noises; only the sound of those sneakered feet. It was like the entire forest had fallen asleep.
Then the insistent footprints arrived, mere moments after she had situated herself. Fast and muffled, moving further and further down the path, and coming closer and closer to her hiding place. She stopped breathing when she heard him about ten feet from her and pressed her body even closer against the tree. She didn't need to see him, able to envision it perfectly in her mind. He was stopping, looking around, and searching her out, most likely with an ugly frown on his face. A string of muttered curses floated back to her. She kept her body as still and stiff as a board and waited. And waited. The wait was excruciating. One minute, two minutes or ten…she didn't know. Time didn't mean anything to her anymore. Finally, after she thought her heart would pound right out of her chest and land on the forest floor, the sound of his feet began to recede from the area.
Stay or leave, her only options. Hiding a groan, she wasn't sure what to do next and dropped her head in her hands. With the way fate was treating her, she was certain that whatever choice she made would be the wrong one. Trixie waited a few minutes before she couldn't stand it. Too impatient to wait any longer, she decided she wasn't going to stay and be a sitting duck. She needed to be on the go, even if she didn't have a destination in a mind or that a lame and blind tortoise could have beaten her in a race. Only wincing a little, she came out from behind the tree and was brought to an immediate and horrifying halt, her hand covering the startled gasp that fell from her lips.
"Gotcha," Tilney Britten smirked, leaning against a boulder across from the path, a picture of disarming negligence with his arms crossed over his chest and his fake blue eyes alight with an unholy glee. He pushed off the rock, planted his feet and looked her up and down, noting the stick in her hand and the way she unconsciously held her side, unintentionally giving away her injury. He studied her face, noting the bruising and the cuts. It made him grin, thrilled to have been the cause of them. "I'm very grateful you finally decided to come out. I was about to give up on you and come over and get you myself. It would have been a lot less dramatic that way, don't you think?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow.
Defeated, Trixie closed her eyes, allowing for one terrifying moment the belief that she really had lost to cross her mind, and swayed in the light breeze rippling through the forest. She nearly fell, was saved only by the presence of the stick at her side. He had seen her, had probably caught up to her well before she had heard him. She cursed her injury, knowing that was the reason why he had been able to follow her so quickly and swiftly. She stood where she was, as still as a marble statue, her eyes big and frightened, and prepared herself for what he would do next. The stick was clutched tightly in her fingers, her only weapon against him. She doubted if she would even be able to wield it correctly, not with the loss of motion she had suffered from her hurt ribs. Thinking about weapons, she stared at his hands and had at least a tiny moment of relief. No knife, as of yet. It was still hidden away.
The satisfaction was pouring over him like molten lava, leaving in its wake a malicious anticipation at her upcoming destruction. He had her. He had won. He felt powerful, like there was nothing that could prevent him from completing his final terrifying act. There would be no escape for her this time. He would see to that. His smirk turned into a slow, malevolent smile when he saw the way her right hand held onto her left side. He hadn't witnessed how she had hurt herself but it didn't matter. He was more than willing to cash in on whatever mistake she had brought upon herself and be grateful for it. Unfreezing his feet, he started circling around, keeping her within his sights the entire time.
It was like some horrible, chilling waltz, one she was forced to participate in without knowing each despicable step or how the dance would ultimately end. She moved to the right while he walked around her like a buzzard waiting to go in for the kill, her gait stilted and stiff, keeping her feet moving and trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She didn't speak. Neither did he. Both were intent on the other. He chuckled lowly every now and then, more than delighted by the fear he could feel coming off of her in waves, while she desperately tried to hold back the rising panic. Her fear fed into his own eagerness. By the time they came to a stop she was near the boulder and he was only five feet away from her, barely out of his arm's reach.
"I have come to the conclusion that you are not nearly as smart as everyone in this godforsaken town thinks you are." His voice broke the stifling quiet surrounding them. Assured of a final victory, he was more than willing to prolong it, to enjoy every single second, and to cherish each and every scared look from her. His arrogance grew with each passing second while cruel visions of what he wanted to do to her danced wickedly in his head.
Trixie didn't respond, incapable of speech at the moment. It was too difficult. She was having enough troubled remembering how to breathe, let alone speak. She kept her gaze on him, not willing to let herself be distracted, and prepared herself for whatever was to come next. She gripped the stick so tight that the bark cut into her palm but she didn't feel it. She didn't want to miss his advance, which she could tell would be coming at any moment. She made herself stand as straight as her poor body would allow. If this was to be the final showdown she was going to give it all she had within her. She would not go down without a fight. It went against the very soul of her. She was a fighter to the core.
"You certainly aren't as talkative anymore, my dear. If I remember correctly, I couldn't shut you up earlier," Britten noticed with a dry chuckle. Pointing towards her left side, he asked with feigned sympathy, "Could that be why? It seems that you met with an unfortunate accident, somewhere along the way. How did you manage to hurt yourself?" He shook his head, made a small tisking sound. "What a shame. What a pitiful shame." Her answer meant nothing to him. He was only slightly curious about what she would say.
She found her voice, weak and wobbly. "I'm not hurt," Trixie lied with a defiant toss of her head, sending her tangled curls bouncing. She straightened as tall as she could, ignoring the answering twinge within, and did her best to hide the wince of her effort. She nearly succeeded. His answering snort told her he hadn't missed it. "I'm not hurt at all. I'm perfectly fine. I've never been better," she insisted fiercely.
"It makes me happy to hear that you are not hurt," he murmured, seeing through her lie and reveling in the knowledge that she would be an easy target for him, almost hardly worth the effort but he would see that the end result more than made up for the lack of a fulfilling challenge. Slitting his eyes, he planned out his strategy. One strong push ought to do it. It would knock her down and keep her there for the count.
"Like I said before, I'm feeling fine. Really, I'm not sure what you are thinking. I've never been better," Trixie repeated with a bit of sass. Her hand fisted at her side. It was easier to focus on him instead of the pain. It didn't seem to hurt as much, not when she was facing down the potential bearer of her death. Swiftly thinking back to the past week and a half of her life, attempting to come up with a question about his plan, not that she cared, she tried to dredge up something to keep him talking. Anything would do, as long as it would ward him off, and halt whatever his plans were for her. She would do anything to get out of the merciless dark he had brought her into. She wanted to get back into the light, away from him, where she was safe and secure and surrounded by those that she loved. "You really took care of everything, didn't you? How did you manage to do it all?" She infused what she hoped passed for genuine interest into her voice and studied him.
His mouth lifted up at one corner, not fooled for a single moment. She was trying to postpone the inevitable. Noble, he supposed, but useless. Completely and utterly useless. Nodding his head sagely, he announced with a small sigh, "Grasping at straws, I see. How disappointing. I thought more of you. We've already been through it, Trixie, my dear. I don't think there's anything else I want to share with you about my plans. It's already been covered." He pointed to the bruise on her cheek. "I think you would remember. You're wearing the proof of our earlier conversation, only a few short minutes ago. I must say, it looks awfully good on you." He leaned back to admire it. "Yes, it certainly does."
Trixie took a reflexive step back from the grinning monster in front of her, covering her bruise with a shaking hand, and grasping at straws, just as he had said. Thinking quickly, she asked the first thought that came to her, despite the fact that she realized how ineffective it would be, "What…how did you figure out I had received the letter, instead of…" Gasping, she left the question unfinished, unwilling to bring up Di's name, not wanting to do anything to bring his powerful anger back.
His eyes gleamed while he grumbled petulantly, "You're not listening. I've already gone through this with you. I am not going to talk about it with you again. My desire is not for more talking. I've had about enough of your voice as I can stand. I desire something much more interesting from you." He advanced another step while she moved back. They did the awkward dance for a few more steps, another series of uncomfortable waltzing movements, and neither gaining an inch of space.
Her mind was too full of what he wanted to do to her, not on a successful way on how to distract him from his cruel intentions. "I saw Sergeant Molinson collect the employee records today," she blurted out hoarsely, finding it hard to believe that only two hours earlier she had been sitting behind the front desk at the Country Club, with hardly a care in the world. "He came into the Country Club to get them earlier in the evening."
"I saw him, too," he threw back, a thick vein starting to thump on the side of his forehead while he held a tight lid on the simmering temper that was threatening to explode. He nearly stomped his foot on the ground, beyond agitated with the whole mess his carefully constructed plan had been turned into, and all because of her. It was the reason why he had to suddenly change his final destination to tonight and the woods, instead of his original intention. The bluffs would have been much more friendly and inviting, compared to the coolness of the woods. "But we've already been over this. I'm sick of talking, anyway." His lips twisted into a thin, ugly smile. "I believe it's time for the final scene, don't you?" He reached behind for his favorite weapon of choice.
She saw the knife in his hand, held up her stick, and felt a hard knot form in the pit of her belly. "No, I really don't think it's time," she answered truthfully, slowly shaking her head. It seemed like her words were coming from somewhere far, far away. "Surely there is something else you want to tell me. You must want to prove to me how clever you were." She almost tacked on a please but her pride wouldn't allow her to.
"Your pitiful attempt at distraction is not necessary and it's not working. It's all been cleared up; to my satisfaction, at least. I do believe that my point of view is the only one that matters now. It doesn't matter to me if you have any questions about the nuances of my impressive scheme." He looked from the deadly knife to her, imagining what it would feel like to slice into her smooth flesh. Unbelievably good. Unbelievably right. She more than deserved it, his demented mind screamed. It was time. He was done toying with her. "Let's make it a game of it, then," Britten murmured and motioned forward with his hands, offering her an early start with a pleasant smile on his face that caused shivers to travel up and down her spine. "I'll even give you a head start. Three seconds. Consider it my parting gift to you."
She didn't stand a chance if he attacked her full-on. She turned on the balls of her feet to flee before he started counting and managed four halting steps away from him, a testament to her strength of will. "One, two…" he counted, slowly and methodically, watching her attempt to run and laughing at her with unmitigated humor. He didn't honor his promise, not that she had expected him to. He tackled her from behind, bringing her down, and enjoying the painful gasp of surprise when she collided with the hard ground, with him partially on top of her. He slapped the stick out of her hands and made sure to put extra pressure on her left side, extremely pleased with the sharp gasp he earned for his endeavor. "And three," he breathed hotly into her ear, roughly turning her over so that he could see her face, needing to look deeply into her eyes. He expected the fear. It fed his desire, made him even more eager to proceed. "See how simple that was? You didn't stand a chance," he remarked jovially, like the intimidating bully that he was.
There didn't seem to be an escape from him. One arm held hers pinned to her body. He increased his hold on her left side, grinding his elbow into the tender spot of her rib cage, causing her to emit a sharp groan and fresh tears to spring to her eyes. She wouldn't let them fall. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, doing whatever she could to not give him anymore satisfaction. His legs were thrown across hers, not letting her move at all. Her chest rose and fell in an erratic manner while she watched with morbid fascination the knife that he lifted into the air.
He held it aloft and then leered down at her. "What a shame. It looks like your time is up, Trixie Belden. You should never have come between me and my lovely Diana." Thinking of how she had done that made his eyes go hot and deadly, with the promise of lethal retribution shining brightly within. "You should have left well enough alone. We would all have been happy. Diana and I would have been together and you, well, you would at least still be alive."
He pressed the sharp blade against the soft skin of her neck, holding it there, putting just enough force on it for the blade to puncture the skin. The small dot of blood that appeared only whetted his appetite for more. "What a beautiful sight," he crooned to himself, watching it bead and then trail down the side of her neck. The deep red stood out against the pale color of her skin. "I'll need to make sure that I see more of it." He pulled the knife back a few inches and turned it over, admiring the sparkle of the blood on the blade in the shaft of the thin moonlight, extremely pleased with his handiwork, confident that she was absolutely at his mercy.
A soft, soft whistle. Bob-white. Bob-white. So soft she almost didn't hear it. Feeling hope, an emotion that had become so foreign to her over the past hour and an odd feeling to have at such a terrifying point in her life, blossom unexpectedly within her, she slowly turned her head and met the emerald green eyes that were staring back at her. Only a mere ten feet away. She had to blink twice in order to believe that she was really seeing him, that he was not some type of a mirage her petrified mind was conjuring up to alleviate her fear or welcome her into the afterlife. He didn't fade away. He was still there. Becoming lost in his eyes, she saw the fury and the terror that were grappling inside him. His face was white and set in determined lines. His lips were thin and the expression on his face…he looked like he could take care of Britten with his hands alone. He looked ready to spring into action at any possible moment. And he was the most wonderful sight she had ever seen. Gaining strength from the knowledge that Jim was here, that she wasn't alone anymore, she unwillingly dropped her eyes and turned back to him and the knife, willing to give Jim the chance to attack.
Jim crouched besides the boulder, waiting, just waiting for his chance, feeling the tension begin to build within him until it was ready to explode with the unstoppable force of a volcano. Their voices had finally alerted him to their locations. He cursed the fact that he hadn't been faster, that he hadn't chosen the right paths to get to her. If he had arrived a few minutes earlier, he would have been able to prevent the scene playing out in front of him. He had crept up behind them, just in time to see the bastard tackle Trixie and bring her to the ground. He hadn't missed seeing the scratches and the bruising on her face, even in the thin light of the night, as well as the hopeless expression on her face. It galled him to have to wait for the right moment to pounce. He held back a string of vicious swear words because he couldn't move now, when the anticipation was riding him hard, and the need to get her away from his clutches was overpowering. He felt for the gun, snuggled in the pocket of his jacket, his fingers touching it and finding a dark comfort in the smoothness of it, but even his weapon was useless. It wouldn't come in handy. Not yet. The knife was still dangerously close to her neck. All it would take was one wrong move on his part. It was practically killing him, seeing Trixie on the ground, weak and hurt, with the bastard on top of her, but he would have to wait until the moment was right.
The knowledge that he was here, watching and waiting, gave her the strength to look beyond her own pain and fear. She pushed her elbows into the ground and wiggled forward, gaining a few inches of much-needed space between them, panting with the exertion. Searching her mind frantically for something to say, to prolong the moment and give Jim the chance that he needed to help her, she commended him, wanting to keep his attention focused solely on her and not on her savior only a few feet away, "You…you've won. Really, you have. I don't have a chance at all."
While he had been chasing her through the forest, fueled by the anger that she had so easily stirred within him, he had only had one thing in mind. Her death. Not just any death but a brutal one. But, if she was willing to stroke his ego, he didn't mind postponing it, not for a few minutes. Watching the thin line of blood dribbling from the small cut on her neck, he gifted her with a feral smile. "The fact that you have accepted your fate is admirable." He reached up with his free hand and stroked her blonde curls. It wasn't the black hair that he dreamed about but he would make do. "I had already made up mind about how I wanted to end your life. Maybe I'll change it and make your death much quicker than I had intended, especially if you are going to be nice to me about it. It's a pity you had to stick your pert little nose in it." He flicked the end of her nose with his knife, not hard enough to cut, but hard enough to terrify.
"Wha…what…whatever you want," she stammered out, staring into the eyes of the pale blue eyes of the devil and not liking what she saw there at all. The knife was laying against the side of her cheek, just laying there, promising more pain. "You're in charge." Her breath coming in short pants, she watched him closely, noticing the almost inhuman expression that fluttered across his face, making her think that he was more animal now than human. Drawing in a sharp breath, she saw that it was going to be now.
Jim saw Britten rear back, knife raised up high. He focused on the man, did his best not to look at Trixie. If he did, he was afraid he would lose his opportunity. Without wasting another moment, he shot up from his spot and lunged, hitting him across the chest, taking him off Trixie and slamming the smaller man to the ground. "Get away," he barked out sharply to Trixie without looking back at her. He felt her feet kick him accidentally as she rolled away.
She ended up on her knees. "The knife, Jim!" she warned shrilly, not following directions at all. She watched with morbid fascination as Jim threw an uppercut under his chin, snapping his head back into the ground, and flinched at the sound of knuckle meeting hard bone. The knife fluttered out of his hand, to land on the ground, momentarily forgotten.
"That's for what you did to Di," he told Britten harshly, in a tone he had never used before, finding an intense pleasure at the blood dripping from Britten's lips. He drew back. Jim's closed fist connected powerfully with the right side of his face, causing blood to spurt out from his nose. It was even better the second time. Jim sat back on his haunches, admired his handiwork, his hand throbbing but more than ready for the next punch. "That's for daring to touch Trixie," he spat out, hatred washing over him in waves.
Momentarily stunned, Britten didn't know what to do next. For the first time he didn't have the upper hand. Breathing heavily, he weighed his options, mentally calculating the odds of the battle. The redhead was younger, taller, heavier, and athletic, but he still had an advantage, one that the younger man didn't know about. At least two full years of daily weight lifting, courtesy of the state correctional institute of New York State. His arm came up unexpectedly, blocking a third shot from Jim, and let loose with one of his own, knocking Jim's head back in the process.
Jim wasn't about to give up, didn't even feel the pain of the blow or the bruise already forming on the side of his cheek. He grabbed hold of the bastard's jacket and hauled him up, using his weight to his advantage, and then pummeled a fist into his stomach and quickly followed with another to his face. Jim dominated, much to his own satisfaction, landing punch after punch, and only receiving a few more.
Britten doubled over after a series of hard shots, actually welcoming the pain, as the last one sent him to the ground. He used it as a source of strength and came back with a punch of his own, as well as something else he kept hidden at his side. Jim sidestepped the attempt easily, managed to get in two more solid contacts, before he felt something sharp slicing into his right arm.
"You should have listened to your girlfriend," Britten remarked smartly as he cut an uneven line into the strong forearm, unexpectedly halting the progress of the fight. It wasn't as deep as he would have liked it to go but it served its purpose, giving him the advantage that he needed. So what if it was dirty? There weren't any rules when one was fighting for survival. He increased the force of the knife, letting it travel all the way from the elbow down to the wrist. When Jim looked down at the source of the sudden, jagged pain on his arm, seeing the blood spill out of the cut and begin to soak his jacket, Britten brought up a fist and slammed it under his chin, knocking the younger man back to the ground.
It took a minute for her to realize what had happened, watching the fight take a turn for the worse. Mortified, mouth open and bringing her hands to her cheeks, she took two steps towards Jim and then stopped. She stared at an object lying at her feet. Moonlight illuminated it. She reached for it, feeling the promise of its force in her hands, and studied it with wide-eyed wonder. How it had come to end up in the woods she didn't have the foggiest notion, nor did she care. As she held the weapon in her hand she knew without a doubt that she could take another's life, if it was required of her. Her eyes narrowed into thin blue slits as she zeroed in on her target. And it was required of her. She would take his.
"Don't move," she got out forcefully past the lump in her throat, halting Britten as he was about to advance on Jim again, brandishing his knife. "I mean it."
He rolled back on the balls of his feet, knife in hand with fresh blood dripping from the blade, and a disbelieving expression on his face. It looked like the tables had been turned once again. This time, not in his favor. He was started to have trouble keeping up with the flow. "This evening has been full of surprises," he remarked lowly to himself, successfully halted in his progression. The evening hadn't gone anywhere close to the way he had wanted it to go. He let loose a series of swears that should have turned the air blue and studied the woman in front of him. Well-versed at reading people, he saw that she wouldn't have any trouble shooting him.
Jim pulled himself into a crouching position, so damn proud of her for fighting back and for being so brave. He saw the gun, decided that it must have fallen from his pocket when he had attacked, and admired the steely look in her eyes. "Good for you, Trix," he mumbled approvingly, staring at Britten and keeping her within his sights.
"Drop the knife," Trixie ordered in her best authoritative voice, the gun firm and competent in her hands. She was almost amazed when it looked like he was going to comply.
Britten didn't have anything left to lose, carefully weighing his next step. Wondering if it was the end of the road for him or if his strand of miraculous good luck would continue, he made a move as if to drop the knife and then pretended to attack, slicing the knife through the air towards her. Yelping, she didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger. A bullet should have ripped a hole through his chest but it didn't. Nothing happened. Surprised flickered across her face. He let out a small laugh and jumped at her before Jim could move, ripping the weapon out of her hands and letting the knife fall to the ground.
"Safety first," he sneered jeeringly at Trixie, flicking the safety switch off and grabbing a handful of her hair. He pulled her up, held her with one arm against his chest and pressed the gun under her chin. She winced at the sharp contact. He closed his eyes, visualizing the path the bullet would take. A fiery path, one that would start under her chin and travel through and out her head. It would be worth the gory mess.
Jim brought himself to his knees, disregarding the blood trickling down from the fresh wound on his right arm, and his heart pounding out frantically at the sight of Trixie with a gun to her. Frowning, he gauged the distance between him and the two, worrying anxiously how he could get to Trixie before that bastard pulled the trigger, and hating himself with vehemence for not being able to get her safely away. He knelt forward, like a sprinter waiting for the start of a race, one hand on the ground, and watched for his opportunity, doubting he would have more than one.
Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye, a movement that had him hiding a sigh of relief. He turned his head slightly, to see if he was correct. He was. Never more grateful to see someone else in his entire life, he let the flow of relief and anticipation move through him. Making direct eye contact with the stern man only a short distance away, he nodded. He knew what he was required to do. Distraction was key, as was getting Trixie safely out of the line of fire. "Let her go," he ordered Britten tautly.
He only held on tighter and chuckled. "You're in no position to give orders. I've got her again, right where I've wanted her. It seems my weapon has changed but that's not a big deal to me. I've learned recently that I'm extremely flexible." His laugh was like nothing either of them had ever heard before. "This time it's you who has been left out in the cold."
He had to keep him talking. "That was pretty low," Jim responded, stressing the word 'low', and looking meaningfully at Trixie. Her slight frown told him she didn't understand. "Attacking two girls, alone, out in the woods. Trixie's not alone anymore. That's the sign of a coward, if you ask me," he continued on, choosing his words carefully, and wondering what else he could say to let her know that the cavalry was hiding in the woods.
For once, Trixie held her tongue. Concentrating on Jim, she realized that he was trying to tell her something very important but she couldn't catch what it was. She gave a small shake of her head, telling him that she was clueless. Looking at him made her feel better, helped her to ignore the deadly weapon residing under her chin, and the feel of the unforgiving hand that was threatening to rip her hair from her scalp.
"I'm not a coward," Britten chocked back sharply, pushing the gun more firmly against Trixie's chin. His hand tangled in her curls, giving another vicious tug that had Trixie gasping and Jim glaring daggers at him. "I'm not. You should really be more careful with your words, Frayne. I think you're forgetting who exactly is in charge here." He waved the gun in the air. "It would be me, in case you are wondering."
"I know exactly who's in charge," Jim answered with forced calmness, staring at Trixie, willing her to figure out the meaning behind his words. "I think it would be best if you would let her go, get down and get out of here, and lay low. No one will come after you, not if you leave us alone," he lied without a qualm, making him promises that he had no intention of keeping. "If you leave now you could be on your way to the next town, safe and sound, with no one the wiser. Trixie and I won't tell anyone, not a soul. But you've got to stay low."
"I have no intentions of leaving any witnesses alive." He shook his head, unaware of the significance behind Jim's string of words. "None at all. It's your bad luck that you happened upon us."
What Jim was trying to tell her was becoming clearer and clearer to Trixie. "I'm in the way," she blurted out hastily before she could stop herself. She wanted to search out the help herself but stamped down on the impulse, unwilling to give Britten the knowledge that there was at least someone else out there in the dark, more than ready and willing to take him down. Someone else was out there, somewhere, with an equally deadly gun, and she had been placed right in the middle of their aim. She gave an annoyed look at the arm holding her, her eyebrows coming together while she tried to figure out a safe way to get out of his arms. Feeling the pressure of the gun under her chin, she realized with crystal clear clarity what his first and only reaction would be.
Jim gave a curt nod, crouched low on the ground, itching to spring at him. He couldn't stand up, had been ordered to stay low himself. If he did, that would bring him into the line of fire. He didn't look to the man who was dying to get off a shot, not wanting to give away the position of their help.
Britten didn't catch the intense interplay between the two. Fed up with the flow of the conversation, with the overwhelming blood lust running through him begging to be released, he wrapped his arm tighter against the irritating girl, finding dark pleasure in the way that she tried to cringe away from him but couldn't because she had nowhere to go, and sneered at Jim, "I must say, Frayne, you have absolutely terrible taste in women. The worst ever. This one here has caused me nothing but trouble since the moment I met her."
"No." His eyes were narrowed, his tone was ice cold, and his expression was grim. "I have the absolute best taste," he shot back fiercely, flexing his fingers. Blood continued to trickle down his right arm, fell to the forest floor. He ignored it. He forced his breath to come in even pants and kept his gaze on Trixie. He had to get her out of his grasp. The man out there couldn't do anything until she was safely out of the way. Anticipation had a taut hold on him. Coming to the only decision available to him, he decided that he would attack, using his bigger body to shield her, if Trixie couldn't get away from him.
Trixie slid her gaze down to her foot and Britten's knee and looked back expectantly at Jim. He shook his head, not wanting her to attempt to kick the man to gain her release and antagonize him further. "No," he mouthed back firmly to her. Britten would pull the trigger without a second thought.
"Here. If you think she's the best, have her, then. I'm rather sick of her myself." Britten unintentionally took the matters out of their hands. With a flick of a wrist he tossed Trixie to the ground, right at Jim's feet, shocking them, and leveled the gun at them, his pale blue eyes staring down over the small barrel of the gun. "There's no accounting for taste."
The pain that shot up through her would have been debilitating if she wasn't relieved to be near Jim. Trixie didn't waste a second before scooting into the welcoming shelter of his body, almost burrowing her way into him. It felt so good to be next to him, safe even, which she realized was an insane thing to think when there was a gun pointed at them. An arm clasped around her waist, keeping her as tightly to him as he could. Understanding that the end was coming, she couldn't concentrate on the words the madman was saying. She laid her head on Jim's chest, peeped up at him, her eyes full of every secret she longed to share with him, and prayed strongly for the right ending.
"I'll take care of you two, right here, right now," Britten said idly, a menacing smile playing across his mouth. "Maybe I'll honor requests. I've noticed over the past few days that you two seem to be inseparable. Either of you care to go first?"
Without hesitating, Jim threw his larger body over hers, gathering her as closely to him as he could, pinning her to the ground, and offering her the only protection available. Carefully cradling her head to his chest, he waited for the onslaught. If a bullet was coming their way, he would take it first. Time seemed to come to a complete and total standstill. Nothing, not a damn thing, for the longest second of their lives, only the rasping sound of their combined breathing. Then a single gunshot exploded brutally through the night. An almost unearthly silence settled over the woods.