Page 4 of Radar

The men had their fists up, looking juiced by Xander’s behavior.

If this were a mugging, he didn’t have a single thing on him that would make them happy; his pockets were empty.

If these guys were Zoric goons, his lack of a cell phone to steal might just piss them off enough that he didn’t survive their beating.

Xander wasn’t coming out of this unscathed. That was all there was to it.

Now, it was up to his skills and fate to determine if he’d lived through the night and could feed himself in the morning.

As the first punch aimed toward his nose, Xander moved the trash lid for the block, pulling in a lungful of air to call out. He wouldn’t yell for Anna. He wouldn’t tie her to him or call her into danger’s way. But he’d allow himself to try again with, “Stop!”

Before Xander released his word, the guy in front of him perfectly aimed his uppercut, impacting Xander just below the ribs, knocking the wind clear out of him, leaving his diaphragm spasming.

He’d been here before. Both on the training mat and in the field, that punch was the go-to when the aggressor wanted someone to succumb but didn’t want to break bones or knock them out.

Xander had trained for this scenario, spending plenty of time in the pool getting body and mind used to physical exertion without air. He’d practiced functioning through the panic.

It would take at least a full minute before he got his next breath.

In that oxygen-deprived minute, he’d be fighting for his life.

And through all his inner dialogue, Xander was aware that his brain was still functioning in adrenaline mode, slowing time to keep him alive.

That meant this situation still called for more than just strength and training.

With a well-placed kick to the back of his knee, Xander collapsed to the ground—the last place he wanted to be with three men standing above him.

Xander knew to roll once he hit the ground, dispersing the energy and lessening the impact. He’d learned to tuck his chin so he wouldn’t knock himself out cold should his head bounce off the pavement. But he’d never trained on cobblestone, and the protrusions hit his vertebrae in a way that numbed his ass and shot fire down his legs.

Bystander attention still might save him, Xander thought as he kicked hard at the garbage cans, sending one flying. It landed with a clatter. As empty food cans bounced out of the yawning mouth, rolling and clanging over the cold stones, Xander pulled his knee to his chest and kicked out, clipping one of the men hard on the shin. The goon’s leg gave way, and he dropped.

With a quick retraction of heel to ass, Xander rolled his hips to the side and kicked the steel toe of his boot into another goon’s ankle.

The man bellowed from behind gritted teeth, hopping back into a doorway to recover.

When the third goon jumped on Xander, he sandwiched the garbage can shield between them. The rim was driving down into Xander’s clavicle, a bone so thin that it was easy to break. It would be excruciatingly painful if it did snap and would make lifting his arms in self-defense all but impossible.

If circumstances were reversed, and it was Xander on top, he’d punch the can lid and break the goon’s bone and feel good about it.

In this configuration, with the solid surface of the lid unyielding against Xander’s chest, trapping him against the road, Xander’s brain was at a loss.

He had no idea what to do from this point.

Xander was a panini pressed between two hard surfaces. If it were just the goon on top of him, flesh and muscles would allow at least a little flexibility, and Xander might be able to sip some air into his body.

Very soon, Xander was going to black out from compression asphyxia.

He’d grabbed the lid to protect himself, and that might have been a fatal choice.

The goon on top of him growled words that Xander didn’t know.

Xander pushed out, “English,” from the last reserves of his dimming consciousness.

“Where is monies?” The words were spoken with a heavy accent and antipathy. Each word was pronounced with a shower of spittle that misted Xander’s face. “Where phone?”

Xander shook his head.

The goon grabbed Xander’s hair, yanking his head up until Xander was chin to chest.

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