Chapter 859
K.C. stood beside him, one hand near the console, ready to relay the next order. He did not need to wrap his arms around his commander. The brace, the chain of command, and Caroline’s future were already holding Jarrod in place.
“Sir,” K.C. said quietly.
Jarrod’s eyes were fixed on Caroline. His voice came out like broken glass.
“Hold the line.”
Caroline felt the last of the fight go out of Melanie’s body. The thrashing stopped. She held the choke for another two seconds, ensuring compliance, then released the pressure. She didn’t get up. She stayed on top of her, her knee pressed firmly into Melanie’s back, a clear signal of dominance.
She leaned down, her lips close to Melanie’s ear. Her voice was a low, chilling whisper, colder than the gravel beneath them.
“Touch her again,” Caroline promised, “and next time, I won’t stop.”
The threat was absolute, a vow sealed in violence. A tremor of pure, primal fear ran through Melanie’s body.
Satisfied, Caroline pushed herself up and stepped back, giving Melanie space to breathe.
Melanie lay in the mud, coughing and gasping, sucking in ragged lungfuls of air. Her eyes, when they looked at Caroline, were filled with a new emotion: terror.
Caroline’s gaze lifted, moving past the defeated woman on the ground, and found Jarrod.
He was standing twenty yards away. And Sloane Hawke was at his side, her hand on his arm, her face a mask of concern as she spoke to him. And he wasn’t pushing her away.
The image was a physical blow. It felt like a shard of ice being driven into her heart.
He was here. But there was still an impossible distance between them. A distance named Sloane.
A wave of profound, crushing despair washed over her, so intense it made her knees weak.
It was in that moment of emotional vulnerability that Melanie saw her chance.
She saw Caroline’s back was turned. She saw the flicker of pain on her face. With a crazed, desperate cry, Melanie scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Caroline from behind, a wounded animal going for a final, suicidal attack.
“Caroline!” Instructor Sharpe screamed a warning.
But a black shadow moved faster.
K.C. Bell materialized between them. He didn’t strike. He didn’t block. He simply moved. His hand shot out, catching Melanie’s wrist. He pivoted, using her own momentum against her, and in a single, fluid, brutally efficient motion, he slammed her face-down onto the ground.
The entire takedown took less than a second. It was a textbook display of cold, professional violence.
K.C. planted a knee in the center of Melanie’s back, holding her immobile. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. “The fight is over, Private. You try that again, and I promise you will regret it.”
His emotionless tone was more terrifying than any shout.
Melanie lay pinned, all the fight finally crushed out of her.
Caroline turned, taking in the scene with a dull, numb detachment. It was Jarrod’s protection again. Always his protection.
Jarrod finally broke free from Sloane and strode toward them. He didn’t look at Caroline. His eyes were fixed on the woman pinned to the ground by his man.