Chris sprang toward Rudy, dropping to one knee as the dagger flew toward the prone man. He grunted at the burning pain in his left shoulder where the knife had embedded itself. His senses sharpened, he felt the air quiver around himself as Jackson charged at him.
“Fuck!” He groaned, surging to stand upright. He dropped his good shoulder, and barreled into the oncoming man’s midsection. Wrapping his arms around Jackson, Chris twisted his body, the action taking both men to the floor. He groaned as pain shoot through body from the knife wound. Ending up under Chris, Jackson’s head bounced off of the cement with a muted thud. Both men were stunned for a heartbeat. Blood dripped onto Jackson’s shirt from the knife buried in Chris’s shoulder, soaking into his shirt.
Jackson recovered first, grabbing at the knife in Chris’s shoulder and brutally yanking it out. Chris cursed under his breath, shuddering as pain shoot through him again. “Fucking asshole!” he grunted through clinched teeth. He rolled away just as Jackson swung the knife at his exposed back. Coming up on one knee, his right hand covering the stab wound in his shoulder, he tried to stop the bleeding. Eyes narrowed, he watched as the other man jumped to his feet, waving the knife in front of himself.
“Not so tough are you fucker?” Frost taunted his breathing rapid. Chris looked up from where knelt, one hand clutching his wound. The torn flesh under his hand tingled with warmth, slowing his blood loss and knitting sliced muscle and sinews back together. He grimaced at the slight stinging the healing created. He needed a minute or so before his shoulder would be healed enough to finish this. I need to keep him talking, he thought.
“Why now Frost?” He needed to keep the other man talking. “And why you?” The blood flow had stopped altogether under his hand. He needed Frost’s attention away from his wounded shoulder. “Why not your father or grandfather?”