Redemption

Twelve

Barely were the words out before Wilkins rushed him. Whirling the fork high he drove straight at Lane. Without conscious thought Rueben threw himself to one side, letting the younger man slide past him. The sharp prongs of the fork struck empty air.

With a cry of rage, the younger man spun, the prongs glinting in the hot sunlight. Falling back, Lane hit the ground, scrambling aside to avoid being impaled. Thrusting the pitchfork hard, Wilkens meant to skewer him, his features hard.

Twisting to his side, Lane caught the wooden handle just above the prongs. Muscles flexing, he held on as Wilkens tried to jerk it free. Their eyes clashed, the younger man's full of hate. When he yanked back Lane let go, watching him stumble off balance. Getting up, he braced himself.

Wilken charged him with a roar, brandishing the pitchfork. Ducking aside to avoid the first jab, Rueben grunted as the shaft slapped across his ribs. Before he reset, Wilken hit him, stars exploding behind his eyes from the punch.

Staggering, he shook it off only to meet with another crushing blow. It rocked him on his heels. Then another, and another. The world spun.

"Fight back, you gutless blighter!" Wilkens snarled, his lips pulled back. "Fight me!"

Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus on the wavering figure in front of him. An odd, tingling heat was stirring inside him—a familiar sense of muscle memory filtered through his veins.

"Then die where you stand!"

Wilkins threw a hard right toward his face, but Rueben deflected it, slapping the blow aside. Fury tightened Wilkins' lips. He suddenly launched his full weight straight at Lane. Driving into Rueben's chest they both went down. He caught a jarring left, then a smashing right, and blood pooled in his mouth.

Ducking his head protected his face as Wilkins came in swinging. Forearms raised; he deflected the blows feeling anger surge inside him. The need to strike back.

When Wilkins set his shoulders for a lightning-fast punch that would've put him back on the ground, he abruptly snagged the man by his right wrist. Whirling, he pulled Wilkins over his left hip, throwing him into the dirt. He came up fast only to be met by a hard fist.

The splat crushed Wilken's lips, splitting them open. Another fist stabbed out, catching him across the jaw. Rueben watched him sway but wasn't buying it. When the younger man lunged at him, he was ready.

Spinning hard, he yanked Wilkens off balance, one arm locked around his throat, the other gripping his wrist. Setting his feet, he gave a hard yank. The distinct sound of the joint popping was heard and Wilkens let out a loud cry. With a violent shove, Rueben had him on the ground. Flat in the dust, gasping for breath, he eyed Lane angrily. His broken wrist was still in Rueben's grip.

"Get it over with then! I'm not afraid of you!" Furious, his teeth bared, Wilkens glared at him.

Silently regarding him, Rueben let the rush of adrenaline slow. He hadn't given his action any thought. Pure instinct, or perhaps a lifetime of experience, had taken over. Now a complete stranger lay on the ground, his wrist broken. To be fair, he told himself, he had not started the fight.

"I don't have a problem with you, Wilkins, you came after me."

"Funny thing to hear from you, Lane! Is that what you told Matt before you murdered him? 'Sorry boy, you started it'?"

Matt Wilkens. It was one of the names Olivia had told him about. An innocent life snuffed out. Because Prescott wanted it done.

"Your brother?"