Slap.
Jack didn't say a word after getting slapped. After all, he knew he had it coming.
Sure, he was no longer that rookie who'd get a rapid heartbeat every time he fired a gun, his mind filled with nothing but sex and violence. Most of the time, he could hold himself back until he got home.
But that only worked when there wasn't an overly tempting target right in front of him—and Alex had followed him.
Though it had only been a matter of seconds, his wandering hands had already expertly explored every spot they should—and shouldn't—have, even adding a bit of pressure.
It was well-known that when women wore tight-fitting evening gowns, especially the kind that clung to every curve, many opted for a thong to avoid awkward lines. The rest simply went without anything extra beneath, keeping the dress as close to the skin as possible.
Alex was clearly the latter. But after delivering that slap, she immediately regretted it. Her earlier act of lifting the skirt had been suggestive enough. That slap was more about salvaging her dignity—really, a sign of flustered anger. After all, some bodily reactions just don't lie.
"I scared them off, baby! I scared them off!" the junkie's voice rang out excitedly from the staircase. Sheriff Ronick also seemed to be loudly checking the status in various locations, and from the sound of things, the enemy really had retreated.
Jack made a sweep from the temporary holding area to the storage room, then to the back door, confirming everything was secure. He dragged the four black cops' bodies into the cells.
When he returned to the hallway with a newly acquired assault rifle and bulletproof vest slung on his back, he found Alex still standing there, arms wrapped around herself, trembling from the cold draft blowing through the broken windows.
"What are you—" Jack's gaze dropped and landed on her bare feet, carefully stepping over shattered glass on the floor. He immediately understood.
"Here." He handed her the heavy bulletproof vest and then scooped her up in a bridal carry.
A rush of hurried footsteps approached, and when John saw the scene, he grinned wide. "Looks like someone brought back more than just loot."
His smile quickly faded, though, and he nodded toward the front. "The enemy pulled back, but things are getting tense up front. You should take a look."
——
"I'll say it again. Drop your gun, you goddamn murderer!"
"Old man, pointing that pathetic little revolver at me is not a smart move."
Jack and John returned to the front hall just in time to see Bishop and the old officer Jasper in a tense standoff.
Two clear factions had formed. Because Jasper had raised his gun at someone, the three other prisoners all pointed their weapons at the 13th Precinct officers. That left Sheriff Ronick and Iris no choice but to aim back at the prisoners.
Ronick, although aiming at the prisoners, turned to Jasper. "What are you doing, Jasper? Put the gun down."
The usually quiet Black woman suddenly erupted. "You bitch! We just helped you, and now you're turning your guns on us?!"
"Yeah, thanks a bunch, sweetheart. Now put the guns down and back up slowly to the corner!" Despite his age, Jasper's voice boomed with strength.
"Our problem is outside, not in here. Put the gun down, Jasper! There's no need for this," Ronick pleaded.
The junkie, clearly nervous, pointed his now-empty AR15 at Ronick, though his mouth kept going.
"You know what the problem is? Criminals have rights too! Yes, the right to be protected and unharmed under any circumstance! And if you can't protect us—fuck you! We'll protect ourselves!"
"Fuck you, you goddamn lunatic," Jasper spat back. "Sheriff, you really planning to trust these freaks? Give them one chance and they'll kill us all and run."
"No. They need us. And we need them. The only thing we don't need right now is a civil war!" Ronick's voice cut through the noise, sharp and clear.
"To survive the night, we need to trust each other. Drop the gun, Jasper!"
With veins bulging on his forehead, the young sheriff lowered his weapon and stepped between Jasper and Bishop, placing himself in the line of fire.
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, when it felt like the tiniest spark could ignite chaos, a calm voice rang out through the room.
"Iris, get me some bandages and alcohol. Alex stepped on glass and cut her foot."
Everyone turned toward the voice and saw Jack standing at the hallway entrance, holding the psychologist in his arms. Behind him, John appeared, now wielding two AR15s.
"Oh, right!" Iris seemed to snap out of the standoff as soon as she saw Jack. She lowered her gun and rushed off to find the med kit.
With everyone's eyes now on him, Jack didn't even look up. He pulled over a wooden chair—its back splintered from gunfire—and gently sat Alex down on it.
"What are you all staring at? That busted window in the holding area needs covering. So does the corridor window. And that smashed-in front door—you really think they're just going to give up and leave?
Anyone who's got a better idea can go wave a white flag and step outside. Let's see if the sniper across the street takes the shot."
Jack's words poured over them like a bucket of ice water, snapping everyone out of their heated emotions. Of course, it wasn't really the words that did it—it was his earlier performance.
Especially for the four prisoners, including Bishop. They had all seen Jack kill like it was second nature. Now he casually came back with two more assault rifles. Even the slowest among them could guess he'd taken down two more black cops.
Besides the one who was mobbed to death in the hallway, every other kill had been by Jack. Even Bishop, a gangster boss, didn't dare challenge him now.
"Alright, alright," Ronick said quickly, pressing down Jasper's revolver and trying to calm things down. "It's New Year's Eve. Can't we all just put the past behind us?"
Bishop raised his gun, disengaged the safety, and looked seriously at the sheriff. Then he glanced toward Jack, who was crouched in front of Alex, tending to her wounds.
"I said before—I'll take responsibility for these guys. Sheriff, you handle your people. Maybe then, we've got a shot at making it through tonight."
Ronick visibly relaxed and was about to respond when John stepped up, handing him the spare AR15 and bulletproof vest he was holding.
"Jack said to give these to you—to distribute."
______
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