Fighting Dirty

Another thump sounded in the office and Merissa cried out, sending a stab of fear straight through Armie’s heart and stealing what little patience he had left. Taking a step away from the others, Armie regained the robber’s attention. The college kid, pitching in, went in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing?” Panicked, the thug swung the gun left, then right. “Stop moving. Both of you.”

Making sure the idiot focused on him and only him, Armie inched toward him. “Or what?”

“I’ll fucking shoot you, that’s what!”

Ice-cold with fury, desperate to see Merissa safe, Armie smirked. “Yeah? With the safety on?” Closer and closer.

The guy breathed fast. Even beneath the thick coat, Armie could see the bellowing of his chest. “Glocks don’t have safeties.”

“That’s not a Glock, asshole.”

The second the guy glanced down, Armie kicked out and the gun went flying. It skidded across the floor and under the kiosk. The college kid slid down to his knees, trying to retrieve the gun.

“Help!” the gunman got out a mere second before Armie’s fist met his face, sending him wheeling backward, tumbling over his own feet to wipe out on the floor. His head smacked with a thump, dazing him, keeping him from rebounding to his feet.

More noises sounded from the office.

Already charging toward it, Armie whispered, “Get down!” to the other customers, who, except for the college guy, immediately hunkered on the floor together. That put them to the side of the office door. Armie reached it just as the door flew open. He had only a split second to see Merissa locked in front of the gunman, secured with a meaty arm tight around her throat. Her makeup was smeared, her hair a mess, but her gaze was incendiary. Rage, more than fear, consumed her.

A large bruise already showed on her jaw and she clutched at the restraining arm as if struggling to get air.

The gun, thankfully, wasn’t aimed at her.

The man held it outward on a stiffened arm, giving Armie the perfect opportunity to grab the trigger well with his left hand, and strike the man’s wrist with his right. The bastard didn’t have a chance to get a shot off before Armie had control of the gun.

Cursing, the thug shoved Merissa into Armie, unbalancing them both. He caught her, and as she scrambled to regain her balance, she inadvertently knocked the gun from his hand.

Seeing a ham-sized fist aimed his way, Armie gave her yet another quick push to put her out of harm’s way and took the punch to the chin. It snapped his head back, but hell, he could take a punch. He shook it off—then went about demolishing the bastard who’d dared to touch Merissa.

Armie had always been a fast, adaptable fighter. He moved by rote, adjusting as he needed to, dodging blows while landing his own with added force. The robber was big and muscular. Armie felt the bastard’s nose crunch, saw blood spray from his mouth.

Women screamed and the five-year-old cried.

The college guy yelled something, and a second later the other gunman, who’d finally regained his wits, hefted a fifteen-pound post from a rope barrier used to keep customers in line. He brought it down across Armie’s back.

And mother-fuck, that hurt.

It knocked him to the ground, but it didn’t stop him. Hell, his ground game was as good as his stand-up.

Two to one made it a little trickier. Normally he’d consider that a piece of cake, but not with so many possible victims in the way.

The man who’d hurt Merissa tried to kick him in the ribs while he was down. Armie caught his leg and jerked him to his back. He landed awkwardly, cursed and immediately rolled to a less defenseless position.

The man wasn’t a slouch. As a fighter, Armie recognized right off that the guy had some training.

Merissa tried to assist him, but Armie barked for her to stay back. College boy tried to edge in, but with fists and legs churning fast, it wasn’t easy.

Or necessary.

Both men together were still no match for Armie. He bounced back, regaining his feet just as the second man again swung the heavy post. Armie ducked, but the post clipped him on the forehead, stunning him and sending a trickle of blood into his eyes. He swiped at it, and heard Merissa gasp.

The man who’d followed her into her office had retrieved one of the guns and had it aimed at her, point-blank.

Armie barely remembered moving, but a split second later he stood in front of her, spreading his arms and using his body to shield her.

“Armie,” she pleaded.

Blocking out her shaking voice, he kept her tucked behind him, his gaze locked on the gunman. The robber’s hat was now gone, his scarf askew. But with his face so mangled from Armie’s punches, he didn’t need a disguise.

Odds were his own mother wouldn’t recognize him right now.

His nose, crooked and covered in blood, had turned a sick shade of purple, matching the shiner on his right eye. His lips were swollen, also bloody. Part of a torn nylon stocking drooped around his neck.

Armie focused on his eyes. They were a clearer blue than his pal’s, without an ounce of conscience.

“Armie, please.” Merissa struggled. “Don’t do this!”

With one hand Armie kept her locked behind him. He said nothing. What was there to say?

He’d die before he let her be shot.

The second man pulled at his friend’s coat, urging him to flee while they still could. “I hear sirens! We have to go.”

And still the bastard kept that gun aimed, his indecision thick in the air.

Holding his ground, never breaking eye contact, Armie calmed his breathing and waited to see the verdict.

Those icy-blue eyes smiled at him—and a second later both men bolted.

Armie started to follow, but Merissa fisted both hands in his shirt. “Damn you, no!”

He heard the awful fear in her voice, and reluctantly obeyed her order. When the men disappeared out of sight, Merissa went limp against his back. Soft, warm, safe. Armie swallowed, closed his eyes for only a moment, then turned to her.

She could have died.

He clasped her shoulders. “You’re okay?”

Mouth firmed, she nodded. Then she thwacked his shoulder. “Are you insane?”

He touched her cheek, and her expression softened. “Oh God, Armie, you’re bleeding.”

The bastard had hurt her. “It’s nothing.” Using his shoulder, Armie cleared the blood from his eye, then lightly touched a bruise on her jaw. “Rissy...what happened?”

She crushed herself closer to him, her face in his neck. “Just...give me a second.”

Hands shaking, Armie stroked up and down her back. He didn’t want his blood on her. He didn’t want her tainted in any way. “It’s over now.” Knowing he could have lost her, his eyes burned as he kissed her temple. “It’s over.”

“Yes.” He felt the deep breath she took and the way she stiffened her shoulders. Suddenly stepping away, she swiped her face and, visibly gathering her thoughts, looked around the bank.

Armie did the same.

The college guy finally retrieved the gun from under the kiosk, but he didn’t look keen on using it, thank God. Gingerly, he set it on a stack of deposit slips and was quickly backing away when his eyes widened. “They left the money.”

There, on the floor, was the bag with the money still in it. “Unbelievable.” Armie grabbed it up, put it in Rissy’s office and shut the door.

The tellers were plenty shaken. The little kid clung to his mother, whimpering.

“Everyone okay?”

Pale faces blinked at him. Yeah, unlike Merissa, they probably weren’t used to seeing bloody fights. He lifted the hem of his shirt to clear away more of the mess.

“Thank you, Armie.” All business now, Merissa hurried to the front door and locked it. “I’m sorry,” she said to one and all. “In case those sirens aren’t for us I have to call this in. We all need to stay put until the police get here.” Brisk, she strode toward her office. “Armie, the bathroom is through there.” She pointed. “Valerie, could you show him, please? He needs to...” She swallowed hard. “To clean up the blood. Could someone find a first-aid kit, please?”

Armie stood there, staring after her. He watched her use the phone, saw her nod and replace the receiver. She went to a cabinet and a few seconds later returned with papers in her shaking hands. “The authorities are on their way.” Hastily, she handed out the papers to the other bank employees.

Impressed by her, Armie asked, “What do you have there?”

“Post robbery packets,” she answered, and then to her employees, “Read these again and follow procedure.”

It amazed Armie to see her like this, so take-charge, so in control despite what had just happened. She got a lollipop for the little boy, cans of Coke for the other customers.

With that handled, she turned back to Armie and blew out a breath while looking him over. Neither he nor Valerie had moved. “Oh, Armie.” She took his arm and, treating him like an invalid, started urging him forward.

“Uh...where are you taking me?”

“The bathroom.”

“Why?”

“You’re hurt and bleeding and just standing there.” She stripped his flannel off him and liberally doused the hem under running water in the sink.

Expression far too grave, she gingerly dabbed at the blood from the right side of his face, over his eye and up to his temple. “It looks terrible.”

Valerie silently set a first-aid kit on the sink for her.

When she reached for it, he caught her wrists. “Honey, I’m fine.”

Her throat worked and she shook her head, her gaze going just past his shoulder.

“Rissy, talk to me.”

“I can’t believe you did that.” Her brows pinched together and her lashes lowered. “You almost dared him—”

“Shh.” That small, broken voice squeezed like a vise around his heart. He stepped closer, letting her feel his strength, proving he was unharmed. Because he needed to know, and she maybe needed to talk, he said, “The bastard hit you?”

She nodded.

Glancing at the popped button on her sweater, he strangled on fury but kept his tone soft. “He attacked you?”

Her face tightened and she swallowed convulsively. “He... He said he wanted to—”

“Cops are here!”

“College boy,” Armie said, hoping to lighten her mood. “I like him.”

Her tensed shoulders loosened with the interruption, and she turned brisk again. “Yes. He was helpful.” She rinsed her hands in the sink. “I have to go.”

“I know. We’ll talk later?”

At that she half laughed.

“What?”

“You always want to talk.” Shaking her head, she left the small room and hurried to the front to unlock the door. Two uniformed cops came in, guns drawn, but after a few questions and a quick look around, they holstered their weapons and began separating everyone. One of them tried to insist on calling an ambulance, but Armie shut them down on that. Merissa refused, and nooo way in hell was he leaving her. Besides, he knew his own body well enough to know the thump on his head wasn’t anything serious. He might need stitches, but he’d try taping it first.

Shortly after that an FBI agent came in with Detectives Logan Riske and Reese Bareden. Luckily, Armie knew them both through Cannon.

Cannon. Shit. He had to call him. Armie got his phone out, only to find the screen busted. Shit again. Like all the guys from his inner circle, he carried two phones, the second one for emergencies. Because they’d formed a neighborhood watch, the separate phones were set for a distinctive ring so they’d know when one of the others had something urgent going on. But the second phone wasn’t in his pocket any longer. He could only assume he’d lost it during the skirmish.

He was looking around for it when Logan approached. “Damn, Armie.”

“It’s nothing.” And he was getting tired of telling that to people.

Logan frowned. “I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded at the cell phone. “That got broke in the fight?”

“Yeah.” His muscles remained too tense and his temples throbbed. “I need to let Cannon know. If he hears about this, he’ll die three times before he knows she’s okay.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do me a favor and sit, will you?”

“I want to talk to Merissa—”

Logan stopped him. “Sorry. Protocol. You all have to stay separate until we’ve gotten your stories. We can’t risk anyone’s memory being influenced by something someone else says.”

Yeah, that made sense. He didn’t like it, but he wanted the bastards caught.

He looked around, saw that from the couch he’d be able to see into Merissa’s office, where she was currently speaking with the FBI guy. “All right.” He worked his jaw, then sat. Using his flannel, he continued to clean off his face, but yeah, that wasn’t quite cutting it.

He was a mess and he knew it.

“Stay put.” Logan headed to the bathroom but he had his cell to his ear. Returning, he set a stack of paper towels, some wet, some dry, on the small coffee table littered with magazines. “Cannon wants to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Armie took the phone, saying immediately, “I swear she’s okay.”

“Logan told me.”

Armie recognized that deadly tone from his friend. “You’re on your way?”

“Yeah. Logan said all I can do is wait in the car but I want to be there when she’s done. Let me know when it’s clear to see her, okay?”

“Sure.”

Cannon hesitated. “How about you? Logan said your head is busted?”

“Superficial.” He didn’t mention the strike he’d taken to his back. “I’m fine.” Neither of them said it, but a real injury could’ve screwed him on his SBC debut. Not that missing a fight mattered with Rissy’s safety on the line. “Logan’s waiting to grill me. She really is okay, so drive careful.”

Three hours and a million questions later, with dusting powder everywhere from forensics taking fingerprints, they were finally free to leave. Armie had found his emergency cell kicked under the couch, so he let Cannon know they were coming out.

Meeting his sister at the door, Cannon checked her face and cursed over the darkening bruise there.

Before Cannon could ask any questions, she said, “I’m okay.”

He cupped her face, kissed her forehead, then carefully hugged her. “Thank God.”

Next he turned to Armie, and blew out a breath. “Damn, man.”

“What?”

Eyes narrowed, Cannon checked over Armie much as he had Merissa.

“If you kiss me,” Armie said, “we’re going to have a problem.”

Instead, Cannon gave him a bear hug. Low, he whispered, “Thank you for looking out for her.”

“I was there.” And they both knew that meant he’d do whatever necessary to protect her.

Cannon turned back to his sister. “I heard the basics from Logan, but I want you to tell me what happened.”

She nodded. “I will, but later please. Like...maybe tomorrow? Right now, I just want to get home and shower.”

“I guess we can talk in the morning over coffee.”

She angled up her chin. “I have to be at work by nine.”

Both of them stared at her.

She continued in a brisk tone. “Maybe lunch, if you really want. But honestly, I’d rather wait until after I’m done for the day.”

Cannon spoke first, saying, “You can’t go in to work tomorrow.”

Testy, she asked, “Why not?”

They both verbally stumbled, then Cannon said, “It’s Saturday.”

“So? The bank is open.” She slanted an accusing gaze at Armie. “Do you plan to skip the gym?”

He frowned. “No.” At the moment, nothing appealed more than pounding the hell out of a heavy bag.

“So why would the two of you assume I’d miss work?”

Armie half turned his head. “They expect you to come in?”

“They offered me the day off. I said no thank you.”

Wow. Okay, so it could be that, like him, she needed to stay busy. A day off would only give her time to dwell on the violence.

Firmer now, Cannon said, “Come home with me and we’ll talk it over.”

“It’s my decision,” she said, sparing her brother the heat she’d thrown Armie’s way.

“Yvette is making up the guest room for you.”

“Cannon.” She smiled at him. “I love you so much. Yvette, too. Thank you for offering. But really, I don’t want company tonight, and I don’t want to miss work tomorrow. I just... I want to deal with it, you know?”

He touched her chin. “You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and damn it, Armie couldn’t take it. Like her brother, she had an amazing inner strength. Few strong people wanted to advertise their moments of weakness. “Let up, Cannon. She knows she can count on you, but maybe right now she just wants some privacy.” God knew she’d been through hell and probably felt like crumpling. She needed to let go, but she’d never do that with an audience.

“That’s it exactly,” she said quickly, and then with an appealing pout, “Please understand.”

Cannon studied her face, glanced at Armie and finally relented enough to say, “As long as you check in a few times, tonight before bed and tomorrow before work—”

Her laugh sounded of tears and heartache and gratitude. “I bet you drive Yvette insane.”

Cannon softened. “Grant me the right to worry about the people I love.” He pulled her coat lapels closer under her chin. “It can be one of your usual messages if that makes it easier.”

“Yes, okay.”

Rissy’s usual messages consisted of Rissy was here. She left those three small words in texts whenever someone missed her call. She sometimes left notes, or in his case, wrote in the dust on a truck window. Armie knew her philosophy was that she wanted folks to know she’d stopped by or called, but didn’t want them bothered if they were busy.

Knowing she’d be in touch, Armie felt as much relief as Cannon did.

“I’ll drive you home,” Cannon offered.

She bent another stern look on him. “I want my car. I don’t want to be home without it.”

“Tell you what,” Armie said, seeing her start to shiver in the cold. “Ride with Cannon and I’ll bring your car.”

“But you’re hurt. You need—”

“A shower,” Armie said. “And some sleep.” And he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on those two creeps again. “That’s all.”

She looked at the cut on his head, which had thankfully stopped bleeding due to the butterfly bandage, and then the other bruises on his face.

“You’ve seen me looking worse after fights.”

“Not really.” She searched his face. “Armie, I—”

Softly, he said, “I know. We’ll talk later, okay?”

She turned to her brother. “You know what he did?”

“Logan told me.”

Armie scoffed. “It was nothing. Now let’s go. I’m freezing my ass off.”

He had her walking through the parking lot when she said, “What about your truck?”

“I’ll get one of the guys to pick it up for me, or Cannon can swing back by here and drop me off. It’ll be fine.”

“All right.” After a long look she handed him her keys—and then took him by surprise with a hug.

Stunned stupid, Armie inhaled, hesitated, but he couldn’t resist returning her embrace. Never, not for a million years, would he ever forget the fear of losing her. Unable to stop himself, he cupped a hand to the back of her head and pressed his jaw to hers.

She smelled of warm skin, flowery shampoo and pure sensual appeal, a scent guaranteed to keep him in turmoil for the rest of the night.

“Armie?” she whispered. “Thank you. For everything.”

With no words to suffice, he nodded, stepped back and watched as she got into the passenger side of the car.

Cannon narrowed his eyes on Armie. “You sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I am.” He started away. “See you over there.” He planned to drop off her keys, and then stay out of the way, giving her and Cannon plenty of time to talk.

He needed some privacy—to do his own crumpling.

CHAPTER THREE

MERISSA LOVED HER BROTHER. She’d always seen him as Superman, larger than life, a rock whenever she’d needed one. He was only a couple of years older than her, but for as long as she could remember he’d seemed grown-up.

Right now, Superman was in her kitchen, insisting on getting her a drink when all she really wanted was the time alone to let go. She knew if she fell apart in front of him, Cannon would never leave her.

He didn’t need to be a savior, not right now.

“Here.” He returned with a cola over ice, urging her to the couch. He smoothed back her hair, his gaze drawn to the bruise. Yes, it hurt. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the fear.

And here she’d promised herself, long ago, that she’d never again let herself be that type of victim.

But this fear—it was more about Armie standing in front of her, using himself as a shield. Risking his own life.

Willing to die.

“Take these.” Cannon handed her two aspirin.

She tried a teasing smile. “This feels so familiar.”

He stalled, then shook his head. “Don’t think about that.”

She couldn’t help herself. They’d lost their dad when she was only sixteen. As the owner of a neighborhood bar he’d resisted the extortion of local thugs, refusing to pay their demanded fees for “protection.” Late one night when he’d been closing, men had come in and beaten him to death.

Devastated but determined, their mom had nearly worked herself into her own grave trying to keep them afloat. Merissa could remember it all like yesterday. The goons wanted her mother to sell but she’d refused.

Until some of those goons had cornered Merissa on her way home from school.

“It’s all the same. You coddling me, being the strong one for both of us.”

“You were a kid then.”

“You’re only two years older than me,” she reminded him with a shoulder bump. “You were a kid then, too.”

“Maybe. I remember feeling so damned helpless.”

“Like you feel now?” She knew her brother, knew he wanted to make things right for her when that wasn’t his responsibility. “I’m not a kid anymore, Cannon. I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do,” she told him gently. “Because I don’t want my big brother stuck taking care of me again.”

He folded her hand into his own. “You know I enjoy it, right?”

Her laugh sounded pitiful. But she still remembered how her mother had given in because of her. Cannon had found those men, and even at eighteen he’d made them pay with his fists—because of her.

She’d influenced him into becoming a fighter.

And it was because of her that he’d formed the neighborhood watch. Everyone loved Cannon, but no one could love him more than she did.

“Superman,” she teased. “This time, I promise I can take care of myself.”

A slight knock on the door made her jump.

“It’s just Armie,” Cannon said with a squeeze to her shoulder. “I’ll let him in.”

Nodding, she again thought of the way Armie had stood in front of her, willing to block bullets if necessary.

Emotion welled up, choking her, killing her.

She quickly took the aspirin and tried to get herself together.

Armie peeked in cautiously, saw her on the couch and came in farther. “She okay?”

“Yes,” Merissa and Cannon said at the same time.

Armie gave a slight, tilted smile. “Hey, Stretch.” He came over to her, laid her keys on the coffee table, then winced at the darkening discoloration on her jaw.

“I bruise easily,” she explained. “By tomorrow it’s going to look worse, believe me. But it was just a slap. I doubt you guys would have even noticed.”

Armie crouched down in front of her. “Hey, you’re not a fighter, hon.”

She liked it when he called her something other than Stretch. Something affectionate. “No kidding.” She hadn’t fought at all; fear and the furious beating of her heart had kept her malleable and weak. It infuriated her. “I may be big, but I lack muscle.” And guts.

“Tall,” Armie corrected. “You’re tall, but far from big. More like...”