And he was ripped back by Merc #4.
Missed it by that much.
Merc #4 was doing an admirable job of squeezing the life from him. In fact, if the cute black spots on the edges of his vision were any indication, Peirce had about ten seconds to break the bastard’s hold.
He slammed an elbow back. Dammit, a little too high. Just the ribs on that one.
Eight...seven...
Another elbow, this time lower. It sunk into the soft flesh of the side and the man grunted.
Five...four...
Peirce jabbed back as hard as he could. This time, the grip loosened. A slight drop and twist, a quick throw, and the man was stretched out on the road, unconscious.
Wow, the world’s spinning.
He staggered to his feet, intent on reaching Emma, chasing her down if Stone had taken her—
He turned right into Stone himself, who had a surprisingly triumphant expression on his face.
He heard Emma’s choked sob and saw Stone look down.
He realised that the bastard had sunk his cane-sword partway into his side, right in the middle of all those lovely bite marks.
Fuck.
There were two options: fight with a freaking sword tip tickling his vitals, or play dead.
He let his knees go until they hit the road, hated pretending even for a moment.
Stone was a vindictive prick, just as he’d imagined. He made sure to turn the blade as Peirce fell. Peirce cried out like a good little actor should.
And, like he’d hoped, Stone pulled out the blade and moved back toward Emma.
Emma.
Tears were streaming down her face and he could see the reddened swelling on her cheek from here. I’m going to kill the bastard.
The knife was still there, just off to his right.
Stone was busy monologuing to Emma. Something about the sword being a gentleman’s weapon. Peirce held in his snort. He withdrew the knife slowly, refusing to give away his advantage before he had to.
“But, my dear, the problem with a man like Taggart is that he doesn’t know when it’s his time to die.”
Well, that got his attention.
Stone was turning back, so Peirce dropped his hand to his side, concealing the knife along his leg. He could feel something trickling down his hip...probably blood, since it was warm. Stone must have hit pretty deep.
Stone dragged Emma up to her feet, clasping her to him like a shield. Her face was pale, her expression terrified. But not for herself.
For him.
Something else caught his attention. Stone was training a pistol on him. Lining up carefully. His mouth was still moving though. More whispered bullshit to Emma, no doubt.
Peirce stared into her eyes, focused on her. He had to make her understand him. “Look at me, babe. Just at me.”
She nodded once, small, barely noticeable. She was the bravest woman he’d ever met and she’d survive this.