TJ was touching Lacey.
That was all Connor could think about.
The man was putting his filthy, disgusting hands all over Lacey.
“Showtime,” TJ sang at Lacey as he pulled out a knife. “You think you can walk away from me, that you can leave? How about I write my name on your skin, remind you that you will always belong to me.”
TJ produced a knife and used it to cut away Lacey’s clothes, then pressed it into the smooth, white skin on her chest. Blood bubbled and leaked out, Lacey trembled, balanced awkwardly with her arms yanked behind her back and restrained in what he knew was a way that would leave her in agony.
The sight of blood on Lacey made him see red, it got a deep protective rage bubbling inside him that seemed to fuel him, give him extra strength. Connor launched up, one arm coming free from the rope that bound him, and he slammed the chair that was still attached to his other wrist into TJ and the man stumbled and dropped the knife.
Since his gun had been taken from him when the explosion knocked him and Lacey out he lunged for the knife, the only weapon in the room.
Just as his fingers were curling around it TJ slammed into him sending the both skidding across the floor. Connor wasn’t going to let this man win because if he did then Lacey would die. And that wasn’t happening on his watch.