Page 179 of Reckless

Koa barely seems to notice. He answers with an elbow that folds the guard over at the waist before driving him into the floor.

The breath leaves the man in one violent grunt, but the guard still isn’t finished. His hand scrabbles across the timber, reaching for the pistol now somewhere beneath the table.

Koa catches him by the back of his jacket, hauls him away from it, and plants a knee between his shoulder blades. “Stay. Down!”

Across the room, the third guard never even looks at the gun. His hand disappears beneath his jacket, not for a weapon, but for the radio clipped to his belt. His thumb finds the transmit button. “Unit—” Mace covers the space in five long strides. His shoulder crashes into the guard’s ribs before the second word leaves his mouth, driving him sideways into the kitchen island. The radio flies free, bouncing once across the countertop before Mace catches it out of thin air and crushes it beneath his boot.

The guard recovers on instinct, exploding off the kitchen island with a sharp elbow that snaps into Mace’s jaw before driving a fist into his ribs hard enough to echo through the house.

The hits land clean, but Mace doesn’t give an inch. He rolls his jaw once, draws a slow breath through his nose, then looks back at the guard with the faintest hint of amusement. “Hell…” A corner of his mouth twitches. “I was rooting for you.”

Confusion flickers across the guard’s face for half a heartbeat, and that’s all Mace needs. He catches the man’s punching arm, twists through the shoulder with practiced precision, and walks him backward three hard steps before introducing his face to the stainless-steel refrigerator with a dull, echoing thunk.

The guard stumbles, dazed but still stubborn enough to throw another wild swing. Mace slips it without hurry, hooks a boot behind the man’s ankle, and sends him crashing onto the hardwood. Before he can scramble back up, Mace plants a knee between his shoulder blades and folds his arm behind his back until the fight drains out of him in one sharp hiss through clenched teeth.

“Stay there, idiot,” Mace says, almost conversationally.

Silence settles over the house.

Three guards.

Three fights.

Less than half a minute.

No gunshots.

No bodies.

Exactly how we planned it.

Koa looks from the unconscious guards to the rest of us before letting out a disappointed sigh. “You know…” he says, folding his arms across his chest, “… I’m the biggest bastard in the room.” He gestures at the three men sprawled across the floor. “And somehow I didn’t get to hit anybody.”

Static shrugs. “Too slow, big man.”

Koa snorts. “Bullshit.”

Slate’s mouth twitches. “Reckon next time we’ll save one for ya.”

“You better,” Koa mutters, stepping over one of the groaning guards. “Starting to feel underappreciated around here.”

Slate glances his way. “Reckon you can carry ’em out instead.”

Koa shakes his head. “That’s not nearly as satisfying.”

I finish up in the van. My brothers have the front of the house. My job was everything Travis might reach before he realizes the night has gone bad. Security system, cloud storage, work accounts, the burner phone registered under a company name he thought buried the connection deep enough. By the time the first body hit the floor inside, his passwords were useless, his cameras now belonged to me, and every door except the one at the back was locked.

Movement flashes across the feed as Travis tears through the kitchen in his robe, glancing toward the front room before making the choice I left him.

Rear door.

Side gate.

Exactly where I need him.

I close the laptop, climb out of the van, and cut through the narrow space between his house and the fence while the fight has all but ended out the front. There’s no reason to rush. Travis comes through the back door seconds later, robe flapping around his knees as he sprints across the yard toward the gate.

He thinks he found the only way out.