He only had minutes to stop the blood flow.

Chris spotted the senator behind Phillip Brody a split second before the man rushed and tackled the governor. The action distracted the Ghost for a split second as the governor hit the floor. Chris bent over and charged. The Ghost jerked his gun away from Brian and pointed it at Chris. Chris saw the gun swing his way as if in slow motion. The muzzle coming into focus, aiming at his brain. He lunged forward and came up under the Ghostman’s gun arm, shoving it skyward as it went off.

The explosion made his ears ring.

Chris grabbed Brian’s shirtfront, ripping him from the Ghost’s slack arm, and flung him to the side. Chris pressed forward, chest-to-chest with his nightmare, tripping the Ghost backward into the wall, struggling with the man’s gun arm still trapped and pointing at the ceiling.

The Ghost’s hot breath covered his face as Chris pressed the tip of his gun into the man’s neck and dug. The Ghost fought, thrusting his knee and slamming his head forward. Chris ducked the head strike and shifted his weight to miss the knee. Distantly, he heard Brian scream for the man to let go of his dad.

“Brian, run!”

Jamie’s breath shot out of her as she crashed to the floor. The weight of two large male bodies crushed her, and she went into panic mode. She fought. Memories of her last attack ricocheting through her head. She clawed, she screamed, she kicked. She didn’t know where the knife was, and she didn’t care. A gunshot boomed, and she looked for Michael.

He was on the floor, crawling toward her. He had the gun in his left hand, slamming it against the floor as he moved. Michael’s right arm collapsed twice under his weight, his mouth bleeding.

Had he been shot in the mouth?

He grabbed her hand with his right and pulled, but the two fighting older men pinned her. She kicked harder, not caring who she hit. Dimly, she noticed the second man was Michael’s father, the senator. Grunting, the two brothers wrestled, the knife flashing between them. Warm, wet blood coated her legs and slicked the floor.

Was she cut? Had she not felt it?

Glancing at Michael, she saw his mouth was open, shock in his eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze and saw the blood spurting out of his father’s leg. She froze.

Tourniquet. Now.

“Shoot him!” she screamed at Michael. “Shoot him, now!”

He shook his head; it was too dangerous. She yanked her hand out of his, and alarm flashed across his face. With both hands, she shoved at the closest male body and the men rolled off her, thrashing and stabbing. She kicked at the governor, and he slashed at her legs. Michael’s father panted hard, his face crimson, and she saw an awareness of his injury in his eyes as he wrestled with his brother. The senator’s movements slowed, and Phillip gave a wallop to his chest that sent him flying onto his back. The senator lay still, gasping for breath as he stared at the ceiling.

He’s lost too much blood.

The governor froze, staring at his brother’s leg. He dropped the knife and reached for his belt buckle. Michael shot up from the floor and took his uncle down, slamming his head into the floor.

“Bind his leg,” Phillip yelled from beneath Michael. “He’s bleeding out.”

Michael scrambled off his uncle, who yanked his belt out of his loops. Phillip thrust the leather into Michael’s hands, who tore at his father’s pants, trying to see the wound. Blood spurted in arcs. Michael whipped the belt around his father’s leg at the groin and wrenched it tight, the blood slowing. Phillip moved to his knees, his gaze locked on his brother. The governor’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands.

Jamie grabbed Michael’s gun.

Blood pounding in his ears, Chris swallowed hard, pressed into the Ghostman, and rested his finger on the gun’s trigger, grinding the weapon into the man’s jaw. The noise in the room faded away. Just Chris and his personal devil existed. The Ghostman stopped fighting and held perfectly still, trapped by Chris’s body against the wall. No safety on the Glock. Chris simply had to pull firmly. Once.

Nightmare over.

“Chris. Don’t do it.” Jamie’s voice came from behind him.

Chris’s finger twitched

“You’re better than this. Don’t start new nightmares.”

Chris stared into the eyes of his personal hell-creator. He could see the edge of the man’s contacts. He could see where he needed to touch up the hair dye. He could see the man’s fear. He could smell the Ghost, menthol and dusty, his scent eerily familiar and revolting.

“I’ve got him covered,” Jamie said. “You can back away.”

“Brian?” Chris croaked.

“Safe. I saw him run out of the room.”

“Michael?”

“He’s taking care of his father.” Jamie paused. “He and the governor are trying to stop the senator’s bleeding.”

Chris continued to lock stares with the Ghost, adrenaline pumping into his stomach, making him nauseous. He swallowed hard, fighting back visions of this man touching him as a child. He could feel the man’s heartbeat against his own. “Drop your gun.”

The Ghostman’s gun arm was still above his head, held motionless by Chris’s strength. Strength that he felt waning.

“Let go,” the Ghost sneered back, his lips exposing yellowed teeth.

“Gun first.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve got two guns pointed at your head. Drop yours.” Jamie sounded like she was disciplining one of her students. Her voice had moved closer. The sound of Michael talking frantically to his father entered Chris’s awareness.