Overcoming Fear (Growing Pains #2)(112)

“Look, bro, Krista has already acknowledged that she is happy here without you. It doesn’t matter who her choice is, so long as it’s not you. Why don’t you just head out?” Sean reasoned.

Jim took a step toward Sean, thick arms poised and bowing slightly so he could look directly into Sean’s face. “Krista doesn’t know what she wants. Never did. She needs a man to show her what she needs.”

The air seemed to crackle with electricity. The hairs on the back of Krista’s neck and arms stood on end. It took her a second to identify the change. It was Sean.

He was still calm, but now he stood balanced on both feet, ready for action. The greatest change, however, was in his eyes. Krista could just barely make them out from where she stood behind his protective frame; like the sea before a storm, all seemed calm, but a great disaster loomed on the horizon, hinted at with the torrid gleam and deadly depth. Anger was seething just below the surface; a wildness she had never seen in him before was ready to be unleashed.

Ben stood in the middle of the street, phone clutched in his hand, staring at Sean with wide eyes.

“I think it’s time for you to go, Jim,” Sean said with finality, his ease and polite manner dropped.

Jim answered with a flurry of movement. Before Krista could react, or even blink, Jim’s fist was traveling toward Sean’s face. Sean was not so slow, however. He easily moved out of the way with a slight movement, and threw a punch of his own. His landed square on Jim’s jaw.

Thus the dance begun. It appeared Sean did know how to fight. And like everything else he did, he did it exceptionally well. He moved like a panther, sleek and agile and full of purpose. If it were any normal man Sean was fighting against, Sean would’ve won easily. But it wasn’t a normal man. It was Jim. Jim was colossal—huge and mean and immovable.

Jim threw another punch, which Sean again dodged, landing another of his own on the side of Jim’s face. Jim, sensing he was outmatched boxing, threw his body at Sean. Krista jogged back and to the side quickly, narrowly missed by the two brawling men.

Sean met the assault and forced him back, throwing punch after punch into Jim’s hardened cords of muscle, pushing him away from Krista. He was paying a price. Jim was landing his own body shots, powering his fist into the sides of Sean’s body.

Where Jim’s fighting style was raw power, Sean’s was lithe and polished. Sean probably couldn’t punch as hard, but he landed his shots better. If Jim got Sean to the ground, though, the raw power might win out.

“Ben, what do we do?” Krista yelled, looking for a weapon or some way to help Sean.

Ben was dancing from foot to foot, stepped closer then further away, watching the fight with fearful eyes. “Kris, I don’t know how to help—I’m no match for either of them. I don’t even know how to fight!”

Sean landed another punch to Jim’s side--kidney perhaps--but took a hard hit to the rib cage. They were both tiring, but neither planned on giving up. It didn’t seem to be about Krista or possessions or anything focused anymore. This was now a fight purely fueled by testosterone, and the winner would have to beat the loser senseless to get what he wanted.

Stupid man-code.

Jim had Sean in a bear hug and was trying to grapple him to the ground. His muscle was gym muscle, though, engineered. Sean, on the other hand, was made outdoors, his muscle moving and straining in harmony, keeping to his feet, using his free hands to ram his fist into Jim’s head or body, wherever he could.

Both men were bloody at this point. Tired and bloody. The fight couldn’t go on much longer. The winner would be decided in the next fifteen minutes, and the loser would be unconscious.

It was then that they heard the sirens—finally! The police cars were at the end of the street, cruising along. Ben jumped into the road to flag the police down, prompting the unmistakable roar of the engine as the cops realized a fight was in progress.

Jim rocketed a punch to Sean’s head, having him staggering back and then blocking another, feinting and throwing one of his own, hitting Jim just as squarely.

It was still anybody’s fight. They were well-matched. Krista had no idea Sean could fight like that. It showed that she really did have a type, and he was dangerous. Sean might be a nice guy that treated her well now, but once upon a time he wasn’t so pure.

Another police car sped down the street as a young cop jumped out of the first car to arrive, mid-twenties, about six foot, and wound too tight. “Break it up!” he shouted, throwing a glance down the street for backup.

Krista didn’t blame him.

An ex-Marine-looking guy jumped out of the second car with a crew cut and chiseled jaw. He was a portly man in his late forties, probably senior in this partnership. His Taser was out before he reached his partner or the fighting men.

Sean tried to raise his hands and step away, showing respect for authority. Jim, on the other hand, used that as an advantage to hit Sean square in the jaw. Sean was hurled backwards, his tired body falling and sliding along concrete. Jim rushed to pounce.

Krista screamed and Ben surged forward, but before either of them could do anything, ex-marine cop shot two spears from his Taser, hitting Jim along the side.

Jim shouted and convulsed, tumbling to the ground in agony, screams of rage echoing down the block.

The young cop ran at Sean, Taser at the ready, “Get down!”

Sean complied instantly, lowering to the concrete slowly with his hands out wide.