Maybe it's the fact he's young and idealistic, maybe it's the fact he's stubborn. Maybe it's because he's not had an ally, even a short-term one, die on the job yet. Whatever it is, the fact he can see the life draining out of Cold right before his eyes seems to give Jacob a new wind.

The arm held out against him isn't going to block his next attack. In fact, it's his target. wrist and elbow are grabbed and yanked up and behind the big man's back. It's something Jacob has done a hundred times before now, in street scuffles and bar brawls, in fight clubs all over London. When he's fighting for money and glory, then he stops when it gets to an eye-watering point, giving his opponent a chance to yield. When he's fighting for his life or the life of someone else, he yanks hard enough to make bone crack and joints dislocate.

That sound is lost now under the rushing water, but Jacob knows his own strength, and his voice is a growl. If this bastard wants to die, then that can be arranged, but he isn't going to let Cold die first.

"Let him go, you prick."