Without Richard’s grasp on him, Mallory sank to the ground, groaning at the pain shooting through his leg once more. There was no time to focus on that now, though; the threat was still there, he was far from safety. The makeshift knife was still there, too, though.
His gaze found the shard of glass unscathed on the ground, and without thinking twice about it, Mallory leapt forward, dragging his still bleeding leg over the concrete floor. It was a fight for life and death, and frankly, he was eager to win it. After all, he did have a reason to live, waiting for him at home. The pain was excruciating, but he managed to reach the glass, fingers wrapping around it in a tight grip. In the next moment, Mallory turned around to lie on his back, lifting the glass so that the other man saw it – and knew not to be stupid enough to attack him.
His brow rose challengingly. “I suggest you sit down and take a deep breath, Mayhew,” he told him calmly, “and think about all this again.”
The agent’s glare sharpened when he saw Mallory raise the shard in his hand. Now, any sane person would’ve taken the older man’s advice.– Take a deep breath. Sit down. Thought things through. Unfortunately, sanity was not exactly on Richard’s side that night. “I’m finished with thinkin’ ‘bout things.” He had been thinking about Mia for too long. If this had to end, it ended now.
Wiping the blood from his nose with his forearm, Richard charged at the other. In the blink of an eye, the Scotsman threw another good punch Gareth’s way, before managing to pin him to the ground in a desperate attempt to try and pry the damn weapon out of the other man’s hands.
