Cutter dived to the side, but not before he caught a wicked blow to his shoulder.
That wasn’t a shot! They want me alive, he thought dimly as he fell, turned and fired blindly.
Three more shapes, one of whom had hit him and who took one of his rounds and shrieked, and then the living room exploded in sound as the other two hoods opened fire, joined by the men who hurried from upstairs.
Cutter wasn’t in the living room, however. He had rolled to the kitchen immediately on landing. He crashed through the rear door and ran the other way, around the back of the longer side of the rear wall, jumping over flower pots and plants, racing to come up to the front from its left.
He threw himself down at the crunch of a footstep. A hood loomed around the side and shot at him. The bullet whizzed over his head, but before he could shoot again, Cutter dove at his feet and brought him down and clubbed him with his gun until the hitter went still.
‘Julio!’ a voice called from the front.
He peered around the corner of the house and saw four men hustling down the driveway, one of them hobbling as fast as he could.
He fired at them, cursed when he missed and ducked back when a barrage of shots slammed into the wall. Felt movement behind him and rolled desperately to a side as Julio reared on his elbow and brought his gun up.
Cutter triggered as fast as he could in the shooter’s direction as dirt and stone chips flew into his face and a slug smashed into his chest.
He crawled forward cautiously when the hitter groaned and fell back. Cutter snatched his rifle away, ready to fire, but it wasn’t necessary. The shooter was dead.
He slithered to the corner and swore loud and long when he saw the drive was empty. He raced across the lawn and leapt over the wall and landed on the sidewalk, ready to fire.
All he saw were the tail lights of the hoods’ car, fading into the distance.
The cops arrived by the time he made it back to the front door.