Six, he could have handled. Twelve, he couldn’t. And he was determined to stay alive so he could help Lilly escape from here. So for the moment, instead of fighting, he did his best to appear limp and lifeless. They weren’t here to kill him; they were just taking their anger out on him. At some point, they’d be finished. The tactic worked. When shouting rose from somewhere deep inside the building, most of the men ran to whatever new alarm had been raised. Only two remained, each holding their rifles on him. He kept his eyes open only a slit, playing the part of a mortally injured man to the hilt. Not that difficult when he was in a world of hurt. He gave a weak groan and shifted, the move taking him maybe a foot closer to the bastards. Then he drew a slow breath, filling up his lungs. And then the next second his right hand snaked out, grabbed the nearest rifle barrel even as he vaulted to his feet and shoved the man into his buddy, twisting the rifle away from him in the same movement.
