Criminal

hand wrapped around her neck. She dug her fingernails into his skin. His face contorted in rage. Amanda felt dizzy. There wasn’t enough breath to fill her lungs.
    “Let her go!” Evelyn screamed. She had her Kel-Lite crossed under her revolver. “Now!”
    Ulster didn’t believe her. He tightened his grip on Amanda.
    Evelyn pulled the trigger. Ulster’s grip loosened around Amanda’s neck. Evelyn fired again. The bullet hit his leg. He dropped Amanda. His arm was bleeding. His side was bleeding. Still, he didn’t go down.
    “Don’t move,” Evelyn ordered. But Ulster didn’t listen. He walked straight toward Evelyn. She pulled the trigger, but the shot went wild. He slapped the gun out of her hand. His fist swung. Evelyn stepped back, but not fast enough. His knuckles grazed her chin. Evelyn collapsed to the driveway.
    “No!” Amanda screamed. She jumped on his back. Her fingernails scratched into his eyes. Instead of spinning around blindly, Ulster fell to his knees, rolled onto his back. His weight crushed Amanda. Breath huffed out of her chest. Still, she wrapped her arm around his neck, locked it tight with the other one. Choke hold. She’d seen it done before. It looked so easy, but no one was really fighting back. No one had over two hundred fifty pounds of muscle to leverage out of the hold. Ulster pulled Amanda’s arms apart as easily as a child untying a bow. She fell back hard, her head smashing into the concrete drive.
    She kicked and punched. Her blows were useless. He easily pinned her to the ground, trapping her arms at her sides, the weight of his body grinding her tailbone into the concrete. Blood soaked the front of Ulster’s shirt, dripped from his mouth. “You must repent, sister.” He pressed harder. He was pushing the air out of her body. “Repent to me your sins.”
    “No,” Amanda whispered. “Please.”
    “Our Father.”
    She struggled, gulping for air.
    “Our Father,” he repeated, pressing harder.
    Her ribs flexed back into her stomach. Something was tearing inside. She couldn’t fight anymore. She could only look up at his cold, soulless eyes.
    “Our Father,” he said a third time, the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer.
    Amanda huffed out, “Father.”
    “Who art in Heaven.”
    “Who art …” She couldn’t get enough air to speak.
    “Who art in Heaven.”
    “Who—” She pushed up against him, but his weight was like a mountain. “Please,” she panted. “Please.”
    Ulster lifted up just enough so her chest could draw breath.
    “Who art—”
    “Who …,” she tried. “Who art …”
    She felt her arms moving of their own volition. Ulster stopped her at first, pressing down his weight again, but then he understood. Carefully, he shifted back a fraction of an inch. Amanda slid out her arm, feeling her flesh scrape against the inseam of his pants. She pulled out the other arm, then clasped her hands together. Fingers laced one into the other. Palms tight. Thumbs outside.
    Ulster stared at her intently. There was a smile on his lips. He rocked slowly, his pelvis grinding into hers. She felt as if her hipbone might crack in two. He leaned over more. He wanted to see her, wanted to enjoy the pain on her face.
    She whispered, “Our Father …”
    “That’s right.” His voice slow, as if he was teaching a child. “Who art in Heaven.”
    “Who art in Heaven.” She stopped, gasping for breath.
    “Hallowed be—”
    The words rushed out. “Hallowed be thy name.”
    “Thy kingdom come.” He leaned over farther, staring down at her face. “Thy kingdom come?”
    “Thy—”
    Amanda didn’t finish the prayer.
    Instead, she drove her clenched hands as hard as she could straight up into his neck. Her knuckles smashed into cartilage and bone. His throat flexed. Something snapped. It sounded like a stick breaking.
    Hyoid. Just like Pete had shown her.
    Ulster dropped on top of her like a pile driver. Amanda tried to push him off. He groaned, but wouldn’t budge. He was too heavy to shift. She had to crawl out from under him. His weight was suffocating her. She forced herself to not pass out. To not throw up. To not give in.
    Amanda’s palms scraped for purchase. She pressed her toes into the concrete. The going was slow, painstaking. Her heart was in her throat. Bile was in her mouth. And then, with one final push, she finally managed to wrench herself free.
    Evelyn was still out cold. Her revolver lay in her open hand. The Kel-Lite had rolled to