Just in time.
Cornelius brings down hell, landing on Grendal’s head with his spurs extended. The crime boss bellows like a bear covered in bees, at the full mercy of Corny’s feet and a beak that won’t quit.
Suddenly, I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
Time slows down and my vision fogs up.
I hear the FBI guys charging in, shouts, screams, grunts, and gunshots. They overwhelm the crippled, falling force of goons easily, but Grendal is still on his feet, fighting back somehow.
He’s mine.
I don’t know how I fight through the fog in my brain, and something that feels like a hot knife jabbing me in the gut, but I do.
My first strike is a kick to his right hand, knocking away the gun he’s struggling to pull.
My second is a hard right punch to his throat, followed by a left-hook to the nose.
My final blow takes him down, a knee to the nads so hard it drives his balls into his stomach and hopefully gives him helium voice for life.
Normally, I wouldn’t fight dirty, but this isn’t a man I’m dealing with.
This is a fucking snake.
The full load of poison hits him then.
He rolls into a tangled ball, groaning like a sixth-grade bully who just got whipped on the playground. Faulk’s men swarm us. Cornelius stands on the side of Grendal’s head, jabbing him in the forehead with lightning-like needle-pecks.
“Surprise, Candy Man. Not all acting happens in Hollywood.” I pick up his gun and point the barrel at his nose. “I’d love to blow your brains out right now for what you’ve done to Grace and her family, but you aren’t worth the bullet. Get used to how your little balls feel right now. In prison, you’ll be living with men who swing nuts far bigger than any you’ll ever have. I hope you rot.”
Grendal rasps like the dead and goes limp.
As if he knows he’s the victor, Cornelius throws his head back and lets out an ear-piercing crow. Then he hops off the bastard’s head, leaving a nice warm puddle of white bird crap in the demon’s hair.
I wish I could laugh, celebrate, but everything goes fuzzy.
Like my eyes just won’t focus right.
I’m not even sure whose huge arms are pulling me back, a rough familiar voice yelling in my ear. “Ridge? You gotta let it out, man, you hear me? Ridge!”
I look up and see Grace in the barn. She’s still plenty terrified, confused, but I know she’s alive.
She’s safe.
Damn, I did it.
There’s barely a second to smile before the full force of Grady’s hands plow into my gut. He knows what’s wrong with me. By the second thrust of his knuckles under my ribs, right into my gag reflex, I’m dropping out of his arms, barfing.
It hurts like hell.
I get as much of the venom out as I can, too screwed up to even pay attention to the commotion as the Old Town Boys are quickly cuffed and led away.
Faulk makes his way over and drops to my side, helping Grady lift me up, and then I’m staring at Drake’s Dallas Police badge, struggling to stand on my own two feet.
I can’t do it without them.
“Ridge? You still with us, buddy?” Drake’s voice drawls in my ear.
I wish I could answer.
Hell, I can’t even speak. My lips won’t move.
“Call Abrams!” Faulk belts out. “It has to be that crap in his system, tell her it’s…”
Right now, I’m not going to say I regret my friends scrambling to save my life.
But damn, if this is how it ends, I wish I’d kissed Grace just a little longer the last time.
I wish I’d told her I wanted to marry her for real.
The last thing I hear is Cornelius crowing like a gladiator, and then everything goes black.
23
No Faking It (Grace)
I’ve lived in fear for so long that I can’t fully believe what I’m seeing as I watch them load Clay and his men, handcuffed, into guarded ambulances.
Half of them are on stretchers. They’ll be kept under the gun with a huge FBI and police presence until whatever they’ve been tainted with works itself out of their systems. Then they’ll be sent straight to jail.
A hundred questions scramble my brain.
I still don’t know where the SWAT team came from. I hadn’t seen them before, but the moment Ridge let Cornelius fly, they appeared like ants bursting out of a rotten log.
They literally swarmed the entire place, taking down Clay’s men in one swift, well-coordinated swoop.
The only one who staggered away was Jackknife Pete. Someone attacked him from behind. The bullet hit the red truck, taking out the back window.
I know what happened now—Dad, who’d been tied up in the back of that truck, managed to get free and somehow still had his gun—but at the time…my eyes were one hundred percent glued to Ridge.