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Just as Rune’s legs bent, coiled to leap at the brute on the far right with a pistol still aimed directly at him, the door behind him flung open and a wall of muscle crowded onto his back.
Hell.
He was good. But he wasn’t that good.
He forced himself not to look at Elle. Not leave her with an image of defeat in his eyes. Death was upon him and the best he could do was to make this as quick and as painless as he could for her to have to witness.
But then Gatlong froze in front of him, his lifeless blue eyes going wide.
“Hello, father-in-law.”
Rune glanced over his shoulder.
Des and Weston.
How in the bloody hell did they find him?
And why in the bloody hell did he even care how they had? His odds had just reversed, falling fully into his favor.
Before anyone could react, Rune leapt forward to the right with full rage, turning sideways as he did and the pistol pointed at him fired, the crack of it blasting through the room.
The bullet missed him and he slammed into the thug, sending the man crashing back against the wall. His blade already pulled, he slit the throat of the brute before the man landed on the ground.
Rune spun around to see Des and Weston had already moved in with him at the five guards. Blades flashing. Another gunshot.
Hell.
Gunshots.
He found Elle through the mayhem.
Her head had rolled back, her body limp in the arms of her captor.
A third gunshot.
Wes rushed past Elle to take on the two men that had just barreled into the room from the side door. A man fell at Des’s feet.
That left four for him and Des to take care of. Gatlong would be last. And his.
Rune swung a blade at the next thug closest to him, a short barrel of a man that charged at him with a dagger high. Rune blocked the steel with his own blade and ripped one of his pistols free from his coat, discharging it as the man started to swing again. Rune still had to duck, the blade slicing him across his temple as the man crashed to the floor.
He found Elle’s face again. Her eyes were open. Open and wild.
To the right of her, Des had downed one thug and had already turned to the next and Weston had disappeared into the adjoining room with the two that had charged in. Rune surged toward the man that still held Elle—the sniveling lout using her as a shield in front of him. A sidestep to throw him off-balance and Rune was beside him, tearing his arms away from Elle. She stumbled free and Rune punched his face, pummeled him until the man dropped. Down to the floor and still Rune’s fists met the thug’s face. Blood flew from his knuckles, but he saw nothing but blinding crimson in front of his eyes—a raging red that had taken over his body.
No one touched Elle. No one.
A shriek—ungodly and visceral—shattered into the room and pulled Rune from his daze of fury.
Her wrists free from the twine, Elle had gotten her hands on a dagger and was swinging it at Gatlong, possessed, uncontrolled fury with every swing.
Gatlong blocked two of her blows with his steel pick, but her third swing cut straight into his forearm. Another three swings and blood flew off of Gatlong, his weight swinging him back and forth as his feet scattered on the floor trying to escape her.
The steel pick swung dangerously close to her head and Rune lunged toward her, grabbing her about the waist. He yanked her back just before her blade came down at Gatlong’s heart.
Two more stumbled steps backward and Gatlong caught his balance. His stare found Rune. “Should have let her kill me, boy.” His left hand reached into his coat and he yanked free a pistol, aiming it at Elle.
Flinging her to the side, Rune lurched forward, his leg high as he kicked Gatlong square in the middle of his meaty chest.
