Fallen Raine {Completed}

Chapter Twenty-Seven - They Say Love Is Blind....

******RIVER’S POV******

I barely had time to gently push Raine out of the line of fire before Jason was on me, diving onto me and brandishing the sharp knife that gleamed in the sunlight slowly tricking through the windows in the ceiling. Morning had slowly dawned on us without our knowing, but now it seemed like maybe it was too late for me to truly appreciate the dawn of a new day.

As Jason savagely dived at me, I shoved his shoulders back and watched as he barely regained his balance, growling low in his throat and holding the knife out menacingly. It looked sharp and dangerous, which was why I had grabbed it from the kitchen in the first place. I had hoped against all hopes that I wouldn’t have to use it, but it seemed that River was going to take that option away from me.

   “You’re dead, Peterson,” he warned me, a sneer to his voice. His voice was low and dangerous, not sounding like the quarterback I had come to know.

   “Good luck, Harris,” I replied coolly, making sure I had a steady, unwavering grip on the hilt of the knife I currently had in my possession that I had pulled out of the waistband of my jeans when Jason had lunged at me.

   Jason stiffened and jumped for me, swinging the knife in a wild, feverish arc that almost slashed me if I hadn’t have jumped back at the last possible second and evaded the blow.

   He swung out his fist in a left hook that caught me unexpectedly under the chin, making me groan and spin around. My vision flashed white and my head let out a fiery scream as I spun backwards, almost loosing my balance.

   Raine screamed in terror, her voice jagged and torn, as if her voice were growing hoarse or needed water. “No!” she cried.

   I ignored her cries and focused on getting out of this alive. If Jason succeeded, then I didn’t want to think about what he could do to Raine if I left them alone. He wasn’t stable, and I needed to protect her. It was obvious that Jason wasn’t stable right now.

   Every fiber in my body begged for me not to swing the knife out. I wasn’t a killer. I didn’t hurt people. I’d been in one fistfight in my life, despite my reputation, and that had ended with me coming out of it looking like a discolored, bruised blueberry at the end.

   Nevertheless, as if of its’ own accord, the knife swung out. Jason tried to jump back, but the knife snagged him across the arm, ripping open his shirt as scarlet blood slowly started to ooze out of the welt, blossoming like a twisted parody of a flower.

   Jason let out a huff of pain and ran forward, ramming me in the shoulder and throwing us both back onto the tiled floor. He straddled my waist and laid punches into my face, making my neck crack to the side with the force and velocity of the punches.

   Each punch blinded me anew, and white hot flashes of pain danced behind my eyelids. My head pounded with an excruciating migraine, and I tasted blood in my mouth, a coppery tangy taste; felt it slowly trickle down my cheek from a cut.