A brief hush followed the blow.
Johnny writhed on the floorboards, coughs ripping through him as every gaze locked his way.
Don didn't rush. He stepped forward with his hands still in his pockets, the scrape of his boots steady across the polished floor. Winter kept at his side, like a shadow.
Johnny groaned and rolled onto one knee, spit and froth stringing at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing through the pain.
Valerie had been still until Don neared. Her heel shifted back, body drawing away from his path. Not a word left her, but her eyes betrayed her—tremor running through them as she risked a look over her shoulder at Johnny.
He had managed to plant both feet again, chest heaving under the weight of the hit. His frown twisted hard as Valerie drifted back into his orbit.
Her voice was tight, low enough that only he caught it. "What now?"
