Chapter 8 - Blood on the Snow
Marcus smelled of cheap whiskey and frozen sweat.
He wrapped his massive hands around Nathan's throat, squeezing with brutal force.
"You think you can take my family from me, you arrogant rich prick?" Marcus spat, his face twisted in rage.
Nathan choked, gagging for air as he clawed at Marcus's thick wrists.
They rolled across the hardwood floor, crashing into a heavy wooden bookcase.
Nathan's vision started to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges of his sight.
He reached blindly around him, his fingers brushing against a heavy brass lamp.
With the last ounce of his strength, Nathan swung the lamp, smashing it into the side of Marcus's head.
Marcus grunted and released his grip, stumbling backward.
Nathan scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath and coughing violently.
Marcus drew a hunting knife from his belt, the serrated edge gleaming in the moonlight.
"I'm going to carve you up, Doc," Marcus laughed, stepping forward.
Nathan backed away, leading Marcus toward the shattered living room window.
"You are nothing but a coward who hits women," Nathan taunted, keeping his eyes on the blade.
Marcus roared and lunged forward, swinging the knife in a deadly arc.
Nathan dodged to the left, grabbing Marcus's extended arm and using the man's own momentum against him.
He twisted Marcus's wrist sharply, forcing him to drop the knife.
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With a final, desperate shove, Nathan pushed Marcus backward.
Marcus lost his footing on the icy floorboards near the broken window and tumbled backward out into the freezing night.
