Page 27 of Rescuing You

Michael exhaled his relief.

And then something bumped his foot.

Michael lifted a leg, pushed himself backward, and kicked.

“Ach, he’s⁠—”

Michael’s foot connected with something, hard enough that it cut the man’s words off.

He braced himself, swung one foot to the side, and brought the man down.

“Oof…Bachir!”

Footsteps, coming fast.

Michael flipped the tarp off, aimed toward the sound of the footsteps, and fired.

The man went down.

Michael swung the gun toward the first man.

Too late.

The guard had his gun up, aimed.

Michael rolled out of the way a second before the bullet flew.

He crouched to attack but his arm got tangled in the stupid tarp. He let the gun go to shake himself free, praying that wouldn’t prove to be a fatal mistake.

He launched himself at his attacker and brought him down, knocking his weapon away. Michael kept their momentum going until he was on top, punching. Pummeling.

Taking punches.

His feet still tangled in the stupid tarp, making it impossible to grab the knife sheathed at his ankle.

A sharp jab to the abdomen, but he ignored it.

He was stronger. He could best this guy.

In time, though?

Michael aimed punches for the face, the nose, the eyes. Disarm, disable. Run.

Run.

The man’s blows weakened.

Michael leaned a forearm against the guy’s neck, cutting off his air. When the guy quit fighting, he pushed himself away, shook the tarp off his feet, and scrambled for a handgun. He couldn’t see his attacker’s. But his was in the tarp, somewhere. He searched. Where is it?

Where…?

There! He grabbed it, swiveled, and aimed at his attacker, just in case.

But the guy wasn’t moving.

Michael sprinted for the river.

More guards were coming. Shouting. Shooting.