"I'd agree," Jake replied dry, "if your brother had cut into my right arm." His pause was short, and pregnant with tension, his grin cold and sinister. "He didn't, he cut my left."
"Don't listen to him, Tom," Henry said as he pushed to his feet and leaned back heavily against the gritty tree trunk. But, despite his words, even he wasn't sure. He could have sworn he remembered the breed reaching for his knife with his left hand—the reason he'd chosen that arm to skin. But, hell, he could be wrong. Did he dare take that chance? Did he dare not take it?
With more conviction than he felt, Henry repeated, "I'm telling you, Tom, the breed's lying. He throws with his left. I-I'd bet my life on it."
"Glad to hear it, Henry. Because those were exactly the stakes I had in mind." Jake smiled coldly. Pinching the tip of the blade between his index finger and thumb, his right arm lifted.
Chapter 22
Henry pushed away from the tree and stepped to his brother's side. His gaze volleyed between the breed and the knife. Unlike Tom, he could gauge the weight and balance of a knife on sight. And he'd already held that knife once. The thing was meant for hunting, not throwing. In his estimation, the breed's chances of hitting a Rafferty were sketchy at best.
His gaze shifted to the woman. More precisely, he glared at the pistol Amanda Lennox cradled in her hands. As far as he was concerned, any woman aiming a loaded gun was cause for worry. But what really made him nervous was... hell, the prissy little thing didn't know squat about cleaning a gun, let alone firing one! And she was trembling like a leaf. Not a real reassuring sign. Her fear and inexperience were palpable; they made her dangerous.
"Well?" Jake sneered, his gaze locking with Henry's. "What's it going to be? Are the three of us going to ride out of here peacefully, or do I have to kill you and your brother first... then ride out? Either way, the end result's the same."
"Not quite," Tom Rafferty said. He must have guessed the warped path of Henry's thoughts, for his spine stiffened, and his stubble-coated chin tipped up. His brown eyes shimmered with newborn confidence. "The way I see it, you're going to have to hit us—both of us—before you ride anywhere. Can't do that when you're only holding one knife."
Amanda opened her mouth. She was in the process of pointing out how, if the blade did hit a Rafferty, and the remaining brother did try to charge Jake, he'd still have her bullet to contend with. A soft, low groan whispered out from behind her, snatching her attention before she could utter a word. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, her gaze sharpening on Roger. His head bobbed as he struggled to lift his chin.
A gasp lodged in her throat. Big, ugly bruises marred the side of the boy's face; bruises the shadows cloaking him could not conceal. He moaned again, his lashes fluttered. He was only able to pry one dazed blue eye open; the other was swollen shut.
Dear God, what had these two monsters done to the child?
Disgust stabbed at Amanda; disgust aimed at herself for letting Roger be taken in the first place and at the two men who'd done that to the poor boy. A wave of guilt made her stagger back a step. Her blood flowed cold as a wave of shock washed over her. She didn't realize she'd lowered the gun until it was too late.
Neither Rafferty wasted a second.
"Amanda!" Jake shouted when he saw Henry charging her.
Gritting his teeth against a surge of pain, Jake reached for her arm. He'd no more felt her sleeve beneath his fingertips before it was wrenched away. Dammit! A feral growl rumbled in his throat when he saw Henry Rafferty struggling to wrest the gun from her.
Tom Rafferty's shoulder crashed int
o Jake's gut. The air whooshed from Jake's lungs as he was sent hurdling backward. The world tipped, and he lost sight of Amanda. An unfamiliar wave of panic washed through Jake when he realized that there was no way he could help her. Not until he'd taken care of Tom Rafferty.
Amanda fought bravely, not to mention dirtily. She lashed out with her feet, connecting with Henry's meaty thighs and shins more times than not. He grunted in pain, but the fingers coiled around her upper arm didn't loosen. Though he tried diligently to get the gun, he was forced to use his free hand to ward off the fingernails clawing at his cheeks and eyes.
"Give it up, honey," Henry panted. "I'm bigger than you. Like it or not, I'm going to get that gun. And when I do..."
Amanda didn't waste her breath responding. Instead, she redoubled her efforts to fight off both Henry and the panic she felt bubbling inside her. To her right, she heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. It was followed by a muffled grunt of pain.
Jake's? Tom's? She didn't know. The faster her mind raced, the more her panic grew. Jake was wounded, weak, and he'd lost God knows how much blood. She'd seen Henry remove the knives hidden in Jake's moccasins; Jake now had only one blade to defend himself with. How long could he last before Tom Rafferty wrested the weapon from him? How long could she hold Henry at bay? The answer to both questions were the same. Not long enough.
"You ready to give up yet?" Henry sneered, and gave a tug that threatened to dislocate Amanda's arm from her shoulder. God, how it hurt!
She was struggling to aim the gun at Henry's chest, but he must have known what she was about, because he leaned to the side. Big, strong fingers curled crushingly around her upper arms. Before she could gasp, Amanda felt herself being hauled up against Henry's chest.
A quick glance to the side told her Tom and Jake were wrestling for control of the knife. And Jake did not look to be winning. Dear God, she had to get away from Henry, now, before Tom got his hands on the knife. An image of that steely blade being shoved between Jake's ribs flashed through her mind. Her heart squeezed unbearably tight.
Amanda resumed her struggles with a vengeance. And when Henry's beefy upper arm veered close enough, she sank her teeth into it without compunction.
"You little bitch!" Henry yelped. His fingers went slack around her arms, and he pulled instinctively backward. "I'll kill you for that, honey. Damned if I won't."
"And I'll be damned if I'll let you!" she yelled right back in his face.
If there was any leash on Henry Rafferty's temper, that remark snapped it neatly in two. He sneered and lunged for her.
Amanda made to sidestep him. Her gaze trained on a charging Henry, she didn't see the thick branch curling over the ground. She did, however, feel it slam into her ankle, tipping her off balance. She cried out when she felt herself going down. There was no way to stop the fall, though she shot her free arm out with exactly that intention.