Page 126 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“Letgoof me, you rotten son of a—”
He pressed the knife against her neck. “Stop squirmin’.”
“DON’T TOUCH HER!”
Logan aimed the Winchester at Ace again, as Mason and Thomas restrained his two goons. But Ace, still holding the knife against Grace’s neck, pulled a pistol out of his belt with his free hand and aimed it at Logan’s chest.
“Well, looks like we’re in a bit of a pickle.” Ace chuckled. “Eh, Cowboy?”
Grace froze.
Logan couldn’t shoot. Not with that knife against her neck, and everyone here knew it. However, Ace couldn’t shoot either. Mason had a rifle too, and Ace had no way of knowing whether Mason would gun him down if he killed his brother, Grace be damned. Mason wouldn’t, of course, not with Grace’s life still in danger.
It was only a matter of time before Ace figured that out, too.
I have to do something.
But what?
Ace had that knife pretty deep into her skin; the damn thing would draw blood if he pressed it further. Plus, she could startle him into shooting if she made a sudden movement.
Damn it.
“Put the rifle down, Cowboy.”
Jonah moved on the floor.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted from his crumpled position and rolled to his side, drawing his knees under him. Grace clenched her teeth. This could turn out ugly. If Grace could see Jonah,Acecould see Jonah. But Ace stared at Logan. Good. If he’d dismissed Jonah as a threat, they might actually make it out of this alive.
It made sense, though. In New York, a man you knocked down knew better than to get back up. That had been the rule on Mulberry Street, in the Fourth Ward, in every alley where the boss hit you once to remind you of your place.
Poor Jonah would’ve spent… what… eleven years learning to stay down.
Well, now, he stood up.
As quietly as a cat. Honestly, this explained why he’d made it as a pickpocket on Fourth Ward. Anyone louder would’ve been caught or killed long ago. But not Jonah. No, he closed the distance in three silent steps and wrapped both arms around Ace from behind—locking one around the gun arm and the other around the knife—and lifted the shorter man clean off the ground.
Ace screamed. Grace fell back with a gasp and pressed her hands against her neck as Jonah’s hand dripped blood where his skin met the edge of the knife.
It’d worked!
Ace thrashed. His boots kicked at the air. The bowler hat tumbled off his head into the dirt. Without it, he looked smaller. Just a short, red-faced, gap-toothed man dangling six inches off the ground with his hair plastered to his forehead in greasy strings.
“You ungrateful little—Imadeyou! I took you off the street when you was starvin’. I put food in your belly, I gave you—”
“You gave me a stolen watch and a guilty conscience.” Jonah’s arms tightened. “You gave me eleven years of lookin’ over my shoulder. You gave me nightmares about a blind manon Fulton Street sayin’ ‘God bless you, son’while I lifted his pocket.”
Ace’s legs swung harder. “I’ll kill you, boy. I’ll kill you and your sister and that whole—”
“No. You won’t.” Jonah shifted his grip, locking Ace’s gun arm tighter against his side. “You wanna know why? ‘cause you’re five foot five and you weigh about as much as a wet saddle, and the only power you ever had come from scarin’ kids who didn’t know better.”
Grace’s throat closed up.
Jonah had taken beatings for her before. Starved for her. Brought home money he wouldn’t explain and smiled when she asked too many questions. Every ounce of fight Jonah had, he’d spent on keeping her fed, keeping her warm, and keeping her ignorant of the price. And now he had Ace Pike six inches off the ground, looking him dead in his gap-toothed mouth, and his arms weren’t shaking.
Grace’s eyes watered.
Good for you, Jonah…
