Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF BLOOD"Not my son," Matteo growled.
With blinding speed, Matteo shoved me behind a heavy wooden crate, whipped out his sidearm, and fired two shots upward before Thomas could even pull his trigger.
Bang! Bang!
One of the mercenaries on the catwalk dropped instantly, tumbling over the railing to crash onto the concrete floor below. Chaos erupted in the warehouse. Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness like angry lightning, shattering rotting wood and kicking up clouds of choking dust.
Bullets chewed through the crates around us. I pulled Leo down against the floor, covering his tiny body with my own, praying the thick oak would hold against the gunfire.
Above, Thomas screamed over the din of battle, "Kill them! Kill them both!"
Matteo fired until his clip clicked empty, ducking behind a massive steel pillar as three more mercenaries converged on his position from the flanks. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and bleeding from his shoulder.
If they killed Matteo, Leo and I wouldn't survive the next five minutes.
My eyes darted across the floor. Half a dozen feet away, the dropped assault rifle of the fallen mercenary lay gleaming in the faint amber glow of an emergency light.
I looked down at Leo. He was crying softly now, terrified by the noise.
I am a trauma nurse, I told myself, my hands shaking violently as I gripped the edge of the crate. I save lives. But tonight, I have to end one.
I didn't think. I crawled out from behind the cover, lunged across the open concrete, and grabbed the heavy assault rifle. The steel was freezing cold. Its weight nearly pulled my arms down.
One of Thomas’s mercenaries rounded the corner, his rifle raising to aim directly at Matteo’s back.
I gripped the trigger and squeezed.
The recoil slammed into my shoulder with bone-shattering force, nearly knocking me flat. A stream of bullets chewed into the concrete wall beside the mercenary, and then caught him square in the chest. He dropped his weapon and crumpled like a ragdoll.
Matteo whipped around, his eyes widening in sheer shock as he saw me standing there with the smoking rifle in my hands.
"Elena, get down!" he roared.
Too late.
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Footsteps rushed from behind. Before I could turn, a cold, hard barrel pressed firmly against the back of my skull.
"Drop the gun, nurse," Thomas Vance whispered right into my ear, his breath smelling of gunsmoke and death. "Or I blow your brains across this warehouse floor right now."
