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He lunged at Griff. Griff fired, and the man jerked mid-air before he struck him and they fell as one. The concrete floor scoured Griff’s spine as he slid backward several inches. The pain only infuriated him. His gun was gone, so he bucked, landing several punches in the man’s meaty middle. His assailant grunted and jack-knifed his knee into Griff’s abdomen.
Stars detonated across Griff’s vision. His nose grazed the chilled floor as he elbowed his attacker off him and found his feet.
Moonlight flooded the space, silhouetting Jo in the doorway.
He spat blood. “Run!” He stumbled backward as his attacker climbed to his feet, circling him, eyes wild, one shoulder a mash of blood and torn flesh.
Griff crashed against one of his bikes. His toes hit cold metal.
The bike chain.
He crouched and wound the metal links around his fist, the stink of oil stinging his nostrils as he launched forward like a missile. He battered his metal clad fist into the man’s gut, giving no quarter till the man’s eyes bulged and the air wheezing between his lips was bloody.
Primal instinct consumed him.
Finish this.
He pulled back for the final blow, but faltered as something crunched in his still healing shoulder. Agony engulfed him in a wall of white heat, stealing his air, so he could only gasp.
His vision blurred.
Taking advantage of the reprieve, his attacker staggered backward, stumbling against Griff’s work bench. A shower of tools hit the floor with a rattle. The man spun, wrench in hand, his face warped and bloody. He lurched forward. Metal pounded Griff’s temple, and the world slipped sideways, all sounds muffled. An alarm screeched in his brain as he blinked and demanded his body respond. He fought for air, to force himself up from his knees. He would finish this. Jo was gone, away from where the fuckers couldn’t harm her.
Swaying, dizzy, he found his feet.
Darkness sliced across his vision, and his attacker crumpled.
Sound carved its way back into Griff’s brain as behind his attacker, Jo gasped, a fire extinguisher in her slender hands.
The man grunted as his head hit the floor.
Griff waited, ready if he tried to get up, but the fucker stayed down.
Jo dropped the extinguisher. A small animal sound he never wanted to hear again escaped her lips. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, what have I… I thought, oh Jesus…is he dead?”
Griff pressed the fingers from his still functioning arm to the fucker’s neck, where he felt a strong pulse. “Still alive.”
He lurched to retrieve his gun.
She tried to touch him. “You’re hurt—”
“No time.” He grabbed her hand, paused at the open doorway. Grit nipped the soles of his feet and his mouth was salty with blood. Fifty feet to the Taurus. The night was quiet, as if everything was ordinary.
“Stay close.” He hauled her with him, hustling her across the lot.
Forty feet.
Thirty.
Twenty
Dirt exploded at his feet as he wrenched the passenger door open and shouldered Jo in. He slammed the door shut, ducking around the trunk to emerge on the far side. The spare key fell into his lap as he dropped the sun visor.
At last. Something going his way. He gunned the engine.
“Down.” He palmed Jo’s head down, seconds before glass shattered and showered them in deadly rain. Griff tasted blood as he ignored the grinding agony in his injured shoulder. He spun the wheel and reversed the car one-eighty.
Stuffing exploded from Jo’s head rest. He blinked sweat from his eyes. Bastards were shooting up his car.
