Second Chance SEAL(42)

Gates’s gun went off twice more before I saw him rear back and smash the butt of the weapon down. I couldn’t see the man on the floor, but Gates hit him again and again, and I knew the man wasn’t going to survive that.

The door finally broke free and flew open. Gates fired at it, but the person there moved back. Gates fired a few more shots before running out of ammunition. He stood and charged the door just as the man stepped through.

The man fired and I saw blood spray from Gates’s arm. Gates smashed into the man, grabbing his gun arm and wrenching it back. The man dropped the gun as they fought viciously.

Gates’s opponent was tall and slim but he looked mean. He snapped out at Gates with deadly punches which Gates seemed to easily block and dodge. Gates was a deadly god, and although there was blood dripping down his right arm, he was forcing the man back.

Gates landed a square punch to the man’s jaw. His head snapped back as Gates moved forward, slamming him against the wall. Gates brought his knee up, smashing into the man’s stomach, and then Gates rammed his skull down against the man’s nose. Blood sprayed out and he screamed.

Gates smashed his head into him again and again then let the man go. The man dropped to the ground, blood pouring from his battered face.

He wasn’t moving, but Gates kicked him hard in the throat anyway.

Gates stood there, surveying the scene. The window was smashed and the door was broken in. One body was bleeding there on the floor, unmoving, and the other was out of sight behind he bed. I assumed he was just as bad off.

Gates seemed to take a deep breath and suddenly come back to himself. He looked around, blinking for a second, and then stalked over to the bathroom door. He pushed it open.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, completely numb. I couldn’t speak.

“Get dressed. I’m pulling the truck around.”

He turned and left the room.

Tentative, I stepped out of the bathroom. The two men weren’t moving. I checked on the one behind the bed and his face was as smashed to bits as I assumed it would be, or maybe worse.

I found my clothes and got dressed. I found my money and made sure it was safe in my pocket. I quickly left that room and didn’t look back.

I’d never experienced violence like that before. Sure, I saw Tony kill those guys, but he shot them. Gates was like a wild animal, fighting against two armed opponents and winning. He fought them hand to hand and killed them both, using his own skull as a weapon.

Gates was a walking killer. He was a sharpened knife looking for a body to lodge himself into.

That terrified me.

I had to remind myself that Gates was on my side, that he killed to save me. Gates killed those men because he had to do it to keep me safe. No other reason. It was my fault that Gates was even involved in this at all.

He never asked for more violence, and yet he was getting plenty of it. All because of me.

He was sitting in the truck when I got down the steps. I hopped into the passenger side and he peeled out, tearing onto the main road and driving away.

We were silent for a while. I didn’t know what to say to him, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk. Finally, I looked at him and noticed the blood still dripping down his arm.

“Gates,” I said. “You’re shot.”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. “Just winged me.”

“You’re bleeding. You need a hospital.”

“No,” he said. “Cops will be looking in the hospitals.”

“We need to stop the bleeding.”

“It’s fine. The bullet just scraped me.”

“Gates. We have to get you help.”

He suddenly pulled the car over. We were on a lonely farm road out in the middle of nowhere. We pulled off into a field with not another soul in sight. I hadn’t even seen another car since we left the motel.

“Fine,” he said. He grabbed his shirt and tore a strip from it. “Bandage me.”

I stared at him and then set my jaw, determined to help. I turned the overhead light on and got a close look at his arm.

He was right, the bullet hadn’t actually gone into him. It just cut his arm fairly deep. I thought he might need stitches, but I wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. We didn’t have a needle and thread.

I wrapped the strip of cloth around his arm.

“Tighter,” he grunted.

I wrapped it tighter and then tied it off. He nodded, looking out the front windshield.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.”

“I’m good,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“Are you sure? That was . . . “

He looked at me. “It was what?”

“Difficult to watch.” I looked away, feeling stupid.

His laughter surprised me. I looked back at him sharply and he grinned. “The violence didn’t bother me,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck about killing some mafia scumbags.”