Jim heaved, twisting, and the man crashed hard into the granite counter top. His fingers slipped loose. Bud slipped, hit the floor hard. He jumped at Jim again so hard and so fast that it seemed like he was on springs.
Jim ducked hard and then heaved up. His shoulders caught Bud in the stomach. Bud did an unplanned back flip, landed hard on the back of his neck. The kitchen tile broke. Jim went to his knees and slid. He got the gun and turned as Bud came scrabbling at him. He pulled the trigger and blood sprayed off of Bud’s shoulder and then he was on him. Jim kept pulling the trigger. Bud tore at his face. He pushed the gun into Bud’s hips, shot him again. He could feel the shock of the impact but Bud wouldn’t stop.
Jim dropped the gun, got both hands on Bud’s neck and squeezed. Bud pushed into it, trying to get to Jim’s face, snapping at his hands. He was stronger than he should have been, than he could have been.
Blood dripped down into Jim’s face, into his mouth. He kept squeezing. He could feel Bud getting weaker. The less Bud struggled, the harder Jim pressed with his hands. He twisted and they rolled.
He kept his grip, slammed Bud’s head into the tile. He did it again. He felt Bud go limp in his hands. He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go. He smashed the man’s head again. He thought, for a second, about ripping the fucker’s throat out with his teeth.
He stopped. The world snapped back into focus for Jim Sykes. He looked at Bud’s shattered skull. At his blood soaked hands. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing.
He threw up before he passed out.
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