At the same time, men poured into the house from the front, the back, all armed. Bradley or one of his guards must have called for backup. A man like Bradley could afford the best, and the men who came in, at least two dozen of them, were large, grim-faced, and hard-muscled—likely ex-military, ex-mercenary, ex-convict. They aimed at the Shifters, who’d be mowed down.
Maria yelled a warning. A few of the hard-eyed men glanced at her then walked on, not seeing her as a threat. She still had the gun, held down and behind her back, but her fingers were slick on the trigger. Could she shoot another human being? And if she started shooting, would they simply train weapons on her and obliterate her in seconds?
Her cry had alerted Ellison. He was moving again, racing up the stairs, Ronan coming down toward him. Tiger saw the men and roared, rising to his full height. He put himself in front of the cheetahs as the first shots were fired, a bullet bloodying his fur.
Ellison turned and leapt over the last curve of staircase, landing on one of the mercenaries before he could get off a shot. His Collar sparked as he rolled over the man, the gun clattering away.
The others split off through the staircase hall, aiming, firing. Tiger herded the cheetahs back upstairs, toward the room with the steel door. Ronan and Broderick had ducked behind walls when the bullets started flying. They were big, tough Shifters, but shots could still kill them.
Ellison fought alone. He bloodied the man, while one of the merc’s colleagues tried to get a clear shot at him. The rest were moving up the stairs, or through the house, hunting, searching, shooting.
What could Maria do? Whatever happened, she had to stop Bradley. And save Ellison. As soon as Ellison came up from subduing the man he fought, the second man would shoot him.
If this were one of the many TV shows she watched, she’d come up with some clever way to bring down all the bad guys, who’d obligingly drop weapons and look defeated and disgruntled. Maria had the feeling it wouldn’t be that easy in real life. These men were professionals, who would shoot Ellison and the others, get Bradley safely away, and then go have coffee.
Maria ducked into the living room, where Bradley’s men had originally taken Pablo, but the room was empty. She plucked a cell phone from the man Pablo had shot in the hall and punched in a number. Bradley had called backup; she could too.
She’d dialed Dylan’s phone, but she wanted to cry when Connor answered. “You’re all right!” she whispered.
“Yeah. Groggy, but all right. Where are you?”
“Where’s Dylan?”
“Driving. Maria, I asked you—where are you?”
“At Bradley’s. We need help.”
Connor started to speak again, but his words cut off to be replaced by Liam’s voice. “Lass, you stay put; make sure Bradley stays put. We’re coming. Where to, exactly?”
Maria opened her mouth to answer, then the cell phone was yanked from her hand, and a punch landed across her face. She went down, pain exploding through her, the gun falling from her numb fingers.
Ellison was there in the next moment, the giant gray wolf slamming into the man who’d hit Maria. The merc lost hold of his weapon, sending it sliding across the rug. Ellison landing on him, breaking the arm the man stretched toward the gun. The merc screamed, and then again as Ellison’s paws rendered his head a bloody mess.
Another weapon clicked, a second merc with an automatic weapon raised and pointed at Ellison. Maria scrambled to her feet, face aching from the first punch. She launched herself at the man, thinking to grab his arm to train the gun away from Ellison.
Crimson burst over the merc’s face, and he fell gurgling. Dead. Maria gaped past him to see Pablo, his small pistol back in his hands, his eyes almost as cold as Bradley’s. The bang of the gun filled the room and made Maria’s ears ring.