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The idiot robber laughed, as if amused by whatever he thought might be going down in that small office.
The five-year-old started to cry, drawing the robber’s attention. Armie stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the boy. Surprised, the robber looked into his eyes, and whatever he saw there clearly alarmed him.
“Don’t try it,” the robber warned.
Armie held up his hands—but he didn’t look away.
“Give me the damn money,” the thug shouted, and the college guy came back, holding the bag out to him.
“Set it there,” he said, indicating a kiosk filled with deposit and withdrawal slips. “Then get your ass over there with the others.”
“Okay, sure.”
Impressed, Armie watched the young man set the bag down slowly and back away. College boy looked to be nineteen or twenty at the most, but he was smart, taking his time—giving Armie an opportunity to evaluate things.
The gunman looked skittish. Above the scarf, faded blue eyes repeatedly flinched left and right. The hand holding the gun trembled ever so slightly. He kept shifting his feet as if resisting the urge to run.
Rolling a shoulder, Armie loosened up. Should be a piece of cake.
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.”
