Page 58 of The Perfect Show

When Ryan wasclose enough, Costabile swung wildly at him with the blade, but Ryan blocked iteasily before slamming the man up against the fence with his left forearm,pinning his neck. With his right hand, he grabbed Costabile’s right hand, whichstill clutched the knife, and snapped it at the wrist.

Costabile yelpedin pain as the knife dropped from his hand, which now dangled uselessly at hisside. With the former sergeant still pinned against the fence, Ryan reared backand punched him in the face. Then he did it again. And again. And again.

Costabile’s bodyslumped but Ryan held him up with his free hand while he pummeled himrelentless with his right. Eventually the sheer weight of the man was too muchto keep upright, and he toppled to the ground, face-first.

Ryan knelt downand flipped him over. He put his palm on the top of Costabile’s head to keephim steady, then resumed punching him in the face. Jessie lost count of theblows as she watched her husband turn the man into a pulpy mess.

She realized thatunless she did something, he was going to kill Costabile with his bare hands.Some dark part of her wanted him to keep going, wanted him to smash his fistthrough the back of the man’s skull. But she couldn’t let it happen, notbecause of anything particularly decent in her. She had to stop him becauseRyan was a cop, not a killer, and he’d never be able to live with himself if hecrossed that line.

“Ryan, stop!” sheyelled.

But he didn’t.Jessie wasn’t even sure he had heard her over the sounds of his fist smashingagainst the crunching bones in Costabile’s face. She couldn’t see his eyes butimagined the frenzied rage in them as he shut everything else out. She was toofar away to restrain him. By the time she got to them, Costabile would be alifeless corpse.

“Ryan, you have tostop!” she screamed again, her voice piercing the darkness.

Her husband’sblood-drenched fist froze in mid-air.

“Stop,” sherepeated. “It’s enough. Arrest him. Cuff him. But don’t kill him. That’s notwho you are.”

Ryan turned andlooked at her, his eyes filled with fury.

“How can we besure that he won’t get out again?” he pleaded through gasps for air, “that he won’tcome after you again?”

“He’s not evergetting out again,” she promised him. “And if he does, I’ll be the one to takehim out.”

Ryan’s fist stillhovered in the air for a few seconds before he finally relented. Without aword, he pulled out his handcuffs, rolled the barely conscious Costabile ontohis stomach, and cuffed his hands behind his back. As he began reading theformer police sergeant his rights, Jessie slumped back on the hood of the car.

She stared atCostabile, whose ruined mouth was covered in bloody saliva bubbles, making sureto lock the image in her brain. She felt no pity for him. It was only her lovefor Ryan—for his reputation and his future—that made her stop him.

But if she andCostabile ever met on a dark street again, she would pick up where Ryan leftoff. Only she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t even try to. She knew what shewas capable of.

After all, JessieHunt was the daughter of a serial killer. She’d learned to harness the darkimpulses he’d passed down to her into something productive, something thathelped society. She’d turned her family’s taste for vengeance into a thirst forjustice.

But if she let it,that lust for retribution could turn on a dime. It was in her blood. And it wasalways there, hibernating somewhere deep inside of her.

All she had to dowas let it out.