Page 118 of Brutal
Time to end it.
That’s always the lesson. Don’t drag it out. Don’t invite complication. Don’t wait for a second blow if the first can finish it.
I ready myself for what I came for.
But something is off.
Halstead slips on the damp wood, his shoe scraping.
He freezes.
It’s time.
I move forward, clamp my hand on his arm, and yank him backward.
He stumbles. “What the hell?—”
“That’s far enough,” I say.
Halstead swallows. “You’re making a mistake.”
I tighten my grip.
Nate emerges from the shadows. “I don’t think so.”
Halstead lets out a breath. “You don’t understand. What I have?—”
“We understand exactly what you have.” I grip him harder.
“Then you understand what happens next,” he says, his voice cracking. “This doesn’t stay here. It doesn’t disappear. I made sure of that.”
Rain hammers harder against the dock. Water splashes up against the wood.
I keep hold of him. One slight move from me, and he’s history. I know it. He knows it.
“Did something change?” he asks. “I was told that?—”
“Shut up!” I squeeze his throat.
“I think,” Nate says quietly, “you’ve misunderstood your position.”
Halstead shakes his head. “No. I know exactly where I stand.”
Nate moves. And everything that happens next goes too quickly to stop.
I’m on him.
Impact.
A sick collision of force and bone and wet wood underfoot.
He goes down hard.
Too hard.
His body hits with a sound I still hear some nights when the house is too quiet.
And then…
