He collapsed onto the slick stone steps, groaning in agony.

The third guard reached for his sidearm at his belt.

I stepped inside his reach, striking his throat with the hard edge of my palm.

He choked, clutching his neck as he fell back into the wet hydrangea bushes.

The fourth guard lunged at me with a heavy steel flashlight.

I ducked beneath the wild, heavy swing.

I grabbed his collar and slammed his forehead hard into the iron porch railing.

He went limp instantly, his body sliding down the bars onto the concrete.

Four men lay on the stone, either groaning or completely silent.

It had taken less than five seconds.

My body remembered the movements before my mind did.

The muscle memory had never really left me, even after all those years of tending to roses and soil.

The cold rain kept falling, washing the blood from the stone steps.

I stood at the bottom of the porch, breathing slowly through my nose.

Ryan stared down at me, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The aluminum baseball bat trembled violently in his grip.