Sam recognized the reaction for the sentence it was. He spun and sprinted back toward the corner. From the way his response had caught them off guard, Sam knew the razorguys must have been expecting him to passively submit to their overwhelming superiority. A bullet chipped some concrete off the corner of the building, fragments pelting the back of Sam’s jacket as he made the turn onto West Colfax. A pedestrian, caught by one of the bullets meant for Sam, tumbled over backward, spraying blood. A moment later it would have been Sam.