Garrick froze. Damn. Getting lazy, didn’t check the back of the house first.

“Raise your hands, man, nice and easy, so we can see what you got,” Nasal-Voice commanded. Garrick raised his hands, his MP5 hanging from the shoulder strap across his shoulder. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to antagonise.

He sensed Anna’s warmth being pulled away from him and replaced by the snub-nose of a weapon.

Nasal-Voice continued. “Cruse, take his shit. I need to speak to the lady.”

A firm grip squeezed Garrick’s shoulders and lifted the MP5 from his grasp. “Hands above your head and turn round really slow. Down on your knees.”

Garrick did as he was told.

A solid wall of red-haired idiot peered down at him. Stubby-handed, he moved with the ignorance and misplaced confidence that came with an intimidating countenance. Garrick glanced over at Nasal-Voice, who held Anna, her back pressed up against the wall, his hand sliding down her flank. Garrick’s jaw creaked with tension.

“Get off me.” She shoved the hand away.

Nasal-Voice took a step back and slapped her across the face. Her head flew back with a crack, blood blooming at the corner of her mouth. Rage ignited in Garrick’s body, the muscles in his neck cording with tension.

Fuck.

No one was going to touch her like that and get away with it. Adrenalin flooded his bloodstream in anticipation, making his heart race and his breath quicken.

Nasal-Voice laughed. Lanky six-foot-seven of nothing in skinny jeans that accentuated ropey thighs, greasy hair hanging too heavy over a bony forehead.

Cruse watched his partner with narrow green eyes under ginger eyebrows. He began to laugh too. “Good one. That’ll teach the bitch.”

Nasal-Voice pulled Anna’s backpack from her shoulder and tugged the zip open. He sniffed at the contents and dumped them on the floor. Anna cursed softly. A stab of pride lanced Garrick’s gut. Spitfire. She dabbed at the side of her mouth with her fingers while watching their captors.

Just wait.

As Nasal-Voice searched Anna’s bag, Cruse patted Garrick down, searching for concealed weapons. His hands ran clumsily over the bio-armour, not making sense of the concealed snaps and fastenings.

“He’s got some weird shit on, Spencer. You should see this.” Cruse glanced over his shoulder to catch the attention of Nasal-Voice, dropping his guard for the smallest fraction of time.

It was all Garrick needed.

He exploded upwards, punching with his right fist, straight into the man’s throat. Cruse’s larynx crunched beneath his knuckles. He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his hands reaching for his neck as a watery gurgle emanated from his broken throat.

Spencer tore his attention from Anna, his hands dropping from her waist. His eyes were slits of indignation and anger.

Garrick sensed the motion of Spencer’s hand. He caught his arm just above the wrist and smashed it against the wall until the gun clattered on the tiled floor. The snapping of small bones was loud in the claustrophobic confines of the porch. The handgun spun, and then slowed, coming to rest at Garrick’s feet.

Spencer crashed down, snot dripping from his nose, his broken, bloody hand clutched against his chest. “Bastard. You bastard.” He pitched forward falling to the floor, but at the last moment, scooped up the gun with his uninjured hand. Garrick kicked at his clutching fingers but not before the weapon fired. It took out a large chunk of the ceiling above their heads. Plaster and dust cascaded around them, filling the air with cloying white mist. As it cleared, Garrick noted pale motes soaking into a dark bloom of blood on Anna’s arm. Anger surged through him.

He turned and kicked Spencer in the delicate, unprotected area of his kidneys then leaned over the man and spoke low into his ear as he picked up the weapon. “Next time, leave the gun where it is.”

Garrick took Anna by the hand, tipping her head up. The skin under her chin was baby soft. Were weapons engineers meant to feel like that? Traitorous currents ran through his belly and groin.

“You’re hurt. Can you move?” he asked.

“Yes. I think so.” Her voice wavered. A protective wave of emotion grew within him, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on her bloody arm.

Anna gave a dismissive shake of her head. “It’s fine. Let’s leave, now.”

Garrick nodded and picked her backpack up. She was right. Once they got somewhere safe, he’d clean her up and dress the wound.

“Come on. That gunshot is going to attract all the wrong sorts of attention.”