“Back off!” Hank growled. “Or I call the law—and they won’t be gentle.”
But Rick wasn’t done. He swung a chain from his backpack, desperate, reckless. Hank blocked it, feeling the metal clang against his forearm. He shoved Rick back, taking a step closer, while Rex snapped, low and menacing.
“You think I’m scared of you?” Rick spat, glaring. “It’s just a grave!”
“It’s a life,” Hank said, voice like a hammer striking steel. “And I don’t care who you think you are. You won’t touch him.”
Rex lunged, teeth snapping mere inches from Rick’s calf. The man stumbled, losing his balance, and Hank pushed him into the damp grass. Gravel scraped against Rick’s knees as he fell, and the smell of the wet earth mixed with the tension in the air.
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