Thanks for your follows and reviews, you're all fantastic. And please, be careful out there :)

Guest: I'm glad that you liked it :)

Banestar: Sorry about that. Another country, another culture... my bad.

I want to say special thanks to my wonderful beta-reader AnnieRavenclaw707. You're the best! :)


Chapter 19: The longest night.

.

Joyce froze, she didn't know what to do or what to say. Jones stepped inside, and to the woman's dismay, another man appeared behind him, also armed. He was one of the Russians who had broken into Murray's house before they had fled. She was sure of it.

Jones went to her, menacingly, and it was then that her survival instinct began to work. Her legs were stepping back as he came closer until her back hit the wall. Helpless, she felt her heart in her throat, the buzzing of the beats rumbling in her eardrums.

"Where is the girl?" Jones asked sharply, still holding the gun at her.

She was so terrified that the deep stupor of the horror drained all thoughts from her mind, that words didn't come. Jones did a sign to his partner. "Search the house."

The Russian nodded, disappearing down the hall.

Jones adjusted the gun between his fingers. "I'm not a very patient man,"

Joyce gulped nervously. She had faced many complicated situations in recent years, but none with such a high probability of ending badly, and completely alone. She couldn't stop looking at the barrel of the gun.

"If you want to live another day, tell me where she is."


Silently, the Russian crossed the hallway, searching for any trace of the girl. The first room has the door slightly open. The soldier pointed the gun ahead, to the dark place, he wanted to end it. Catching the girl and getting out of there, it couldn't be that complicated.

As soon as the man's foot crossed the threshold, a shadow gave him a powerful straight kick that sent the gun upon the polished wood floor. He tried to turn, but an arm clenched around his throat and began to squeeze, his voice muffled by the pressure against the windpipe. "You choose the wrong house, pal." Hopper murmured in his ear.

The soldier spiked his heels to the ground and pushed back, slamming his attacker against the wall. The blow caused the pressure on his neck to ease enough to throw a blowback with his elbow and free himself.

He barely had time to turn, gasping, when Hopper charged him, full force, and seized him to the floor, the wooden surface winding him as they landed hard.

He was struggling to breathe and unable to push himself up, one arm locked beneath his body, the other pinned to his flank. He was about to cry for help when Hopper landed him a heavy blow, directly to the middle of his chest, expelling the little air he had been able to catch.

As a police officer, Hopper was supposed to have rules. The final step was to immobilize the subject. But he had stopped being a policeman long ago. He did not contain himself, his anger burned inside him, he was not going to allow those cretins to break into Joyce's house at gunpoint, much less if they were the same ones that had been torturing him in recent weeks.

Anger came out of him, and the blows began to rain down on the Communist soldier, straight to the jaw, mercilessly and incessantly, one after another. He was sure that some teeth had cracked under his knuckles as they protested in pain, but he didn't stop until the body beneath him stopped moving. Completely limp. And the Russian's head jerked to the side, knocked out cold.

Hopper released the soldier disdainfully as he sat on the floor, trying to normalize his breathing while massaging his knuckles. Too much action for his still battered body. Then he heard noises coming from the other side of the house. "Joyce," he muttered, looking around for the Russian's pistol. He had work ahead.


Gradually, Joyce began to assimilate the situation. She was still terrified, she didn't know what could happen, and Jones was starting to get impatient.

"I will make it clear, Joyce. They want the girl. Do you know what that means?"

Joyce shook her head, still unable to speak.

"Well ..." He grabbed her arm, separating the distance between them, to look her in the eye. "If you are not useful, you are dispensable."

"Please, you don't have to do this." Joyce pleaded, scared to death. She needed to think of something and fast.

The woman made the mistake of looking at the wine bottle that was within her reach. If she could pick it up, she could use it against Jones. It was a terrible plan. He would probably shoot her before she was even able to grab the bottle, but she couldn't think of anything better.

"You're a bad girl." The agent said, immediately guessing her intention. He had followed her gaze, and although that desperate thought of the woman made him grin, the smile faded when he noticed a shadow reflecting in the bottle.

With a quick movement, Jones grabbed the woman and placed her in front of him as a human shield. Joyce exclaimed at the suddenness of the action, but she could barely react before having Jones's arm around her neck and feeling the cold metal of the gun's barrel resting on her temple.

"Smart girl. You were not alone after all,"

"You are. I'm afraid that your partner Smirnoff the third, won't be able to help you." Hopper stated, aiming a gun at him on the other side. "Let her go. Now."

"Or what?" Jones replied, almost challenging him.

Hopper adjusted his finger on the trigger. It was not the first time that he had faced a difficult situation with hostages. He had lived a case in New York and had no fond memories of it. The difference was abysmal. That time the hostage was a stranger to him. Not that he cared less about his life, his duty was to protect all citizens. The problem is that not knowing those involved helped him to keep a cool head and think more clearly.

"You know, the way you pick up the gun and that authoritative tone give you away. You're a cop." Jones stated, "I was a federal. I know how they train you for these situations. Trust me, nothing you're thinking is going to work here."

Hopper chuckled at that. "You have no fucking idea who you're dealing with, boy. I haven't crossed a fucking hell, survived hell beasts, and a herd of brainless soviets so that now a little lad with an air of superiority comes to tell me what I can or cannot do." Hopper darkened his voice. "Release her, because you know very well that at this distance I will not fail."

Jones raised his eyebrow but was not intimidated. "Ok. I will tell you what you are going to do. You either put the gun down or you risk shooting. You choose. I'm going to count to three."

For a second Hopper and Joyce's eyes met, and during that second, many phrases remained in the air that would probably never be said.

"One,"

Joyce noticed how the barrel of the pistol sank deeper into her head, and accidentally a squeak escaped her lips. Moron. She thought fearing that sound would make Hopper more nervous than he already was.

"Two,"

Shit. Hop thought, realizing that he would never dare pull the trigger and put Joyce at risk.

"Ok, ok ..." He said, lowering the gun. He had been a fool thinking that this bluff would work at all.

Jones chuckled. "Drop the gun."

Hopper did as he was told, and the other man smiled self-reliantly. "It is a pity. Seriously, I have nothing against you," The federal officer pointed the gun at Hopper. "I guess you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No!" Joyce yelled, stirring in fear. It was clear that the bastard was going to shoot him at point-blank range. Jones held her tighter. "Say Goodbye to him."

Suddenly, the phone ran distracting their attention. During that moment, Hopper did not hesitate and rushed at them. Jones tried to shoot him, but Joyce stepped on his foot, and the shot deflected past whistling near Hopper's head. He took the last few steps, and before Jones could fire again, he dealt a blow to his wrist, sending the gun flying.

"Son of a bitch!" The agent cursed as he threw Joyce against a nearby cabinet. Hopper was furious, he tried to land him a good right hook, but the federal was well trained and not only managed to avoid all of Hopper's attempts but he threw a knee to his stomach. The policeman doubled over in pain. It had not been a too strong blow, but it was very close to his wound. Damn it.

Jones smiled maliciously, as he spotted Hopper's weakest point. He grabbed the shoulder of the policeman to straighten him. Violently, he punched the wound directly. Hopper felt a lash of pain run through his body, that wasn't going to end well. Jones threw him against a closet, holding him against it.

"This is going to be fun." Without further ado, he struck the wound repeatedly, without mercy or compassion. The pain was excruciating and finally, Hopper's legs gave up. His knees dug into the floor, and soon after, his entire body collapsed. Hopper huffed in pain as he felt like he had fallen on something hard.

Jones looked at him, proud of his work, knowing that he couldn't bother him anymore. "All right. Where were we going, dear?" He turned to go for Joyce and was met by the surface of a pan that struck his face, hard.

"Bitch!" He growled in surprise at the blow that made him stagger to the sink. Inexplicably, his pistol had ended up there. Before Joyce could hit him again, he picked it up and pointed it at her, making her stop and almost yelling in surprise.

"Last chance!" He shouted, angry. "Where is the damn girl?"

Joyce looked at the gun, then at Jones. His cold eyes made it clear that he was going to shoot anyway. "I would rather die than tell you."

And then, the sound of a shot rang out in the room.

To be continued.

Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated. :)