But the thought of her coming over and giving the place a preadoption once-over made him want to spruce up the yard. He needed lights or landscaping—both, he decided. The inside could use some work too. The walls were still up-for-sale white. He hadn’t hung a single picture or piece of art, and his furniture leaned toward essentials only. He couldn’t fix everything at once, but he could begin making his house look like a home. He started a mental list for the home improvement store: paint, flowers, mulch.
A twig snapped behind him. He spun toward the sound.
The first blow cracked against the side of his head. The pain exploded through his skull and sent him to one knee. Light flashed across his field of vision, like shooting stars. At first, he thought he’d walked into a low tree branch. Then he sensed more than saw the figures moving around him. With the pain ricocheting in his head like a pinball, it took a breath for him to realize he was being attacked.
He reached for the sidearm on his hip. As soon as his weapon cleared its holster, a second blow struck his elbow, hitting the nerve. White-hot agony raced from his fingertips to his shoulder, and he dropped the gun. A man loomed over him, blotting out the moonlight. He wore camo. Something swung from his hand. Some kind of stick or baton? A brimmed hat shielded his eyes, and a dark bandana covered his face.
The group shifted around Todd. He tried to count them, but his vision went blurry as blood ran into his eyes.
Four? No, five.
His hand went to his waist again, but he was out of uniform. Without his duty belt, he had no Taser, no pepper spray, no anything. Levering to his feet, he spun in a circle, a futile attempt to face all his attackers. A body passed close to him, and he lashed out with a hook punch. His fist caught a soft belly, and the man grunted.
Another blow from the baton struck him low across his back. The pain nearly folded his legs, but he knew once he went down, that was where he would stay.
And the fight would become a beating.
He remained upright by sheer willpower. Staggering, he braced himself and kicked out. His boot caught a knee. Something cracked. The recipient screamed, his knees buckled, and he fell to his ass. One down. Satisfaction drove Todd to lash out again. He stomped on a foot, then drove his left elbow under a jaw. The sound of teeth snapping together revitalized him.
A punch sailed toward his face. He dodged it, but a second fist came out of nowhere, hitting him in the eye. Adrenaline blocked some of the pain, but his vision doubled for a few seconds.
He was a decent fighter, but not against five opponents who’d gotten the jump on him. There was no way for him to win. He remembered Oscar’s bruised face, and the bullet holes in his knees, shoulder, and forehead. Had his last moments gone like this? Were these the men who’d killed him? Would they torture Todd like they had Oscar?
Something moved on his left. He ducked, and the baton swished over his head, close enough to his face that he could feel the disturbance of air on his skin.
Men circled him.
Todd knew they would probably kill him. He pushed away the regret and fear. He would die tonight. His only choice was whether he would go easy or hard. Hard, he decided.
Fuck them.
He would inflict some damage on his way out. Anger burned away some of his pain. He’d wasted the last seven years. Now, he’d finally found someone he wanted to be with, and these fuckers were going to kill him. Cady’s face crossed his mind.
I’m sorry.
He hadn’t even asked her on a date. Stupid.
A punch to the kidneys rocked him. He stumbled a few steps away, then caught his balance and whirled. Using the momentum of the spin, he whipped the heel of his hand across a face, then raked his nails across the man’s eyes. He felt a liquid pop.
“Fuck. My eye.” The man grabbed his face with both hands and staggered away.
That’s two.
Todd’s hand came away wet. He wiped it on his shirt, making sure blood soaked into the fabric and skin and tissue drove deeper under his own nails.
DNA, motherfucker, DNA.
If Bree and Matt had to investigate his death tomorrow, he’d make sure they found some evidence on his body. He reached out again and snagged a wrist and latched on to a watch band. The buckle gave and came away in his hand.
Something cracked against the backs of his knees. Todd’s legs crumpled. He crashed to the ground, the watch sailing out of his grip. As he fell, he caught sight of the baton. That’ll do it, he thought. The grass did not feel soft as his head bounced off it. The baton headed toward his face, and he wrapped his arms around his head. It struck his shoulder. The new pain barely registered on his already-battered body.