Chapter 5 - The Tables TurnThe flashlight beam illuminated the edge of the chair, catching the glint of blood on Silas’s sleeve—and the pink plastic scissors in Poppy’s hand.
“What the hell—!” the guard yelled, raising his pistol.
Before the man could pull the trigger, Silas threw all his weight forward. With his right wrist now free from the first severed cord, he kicked out with both boots, catching the guard squarely in the chest.
The man flew backward, crashing hard against the stone wall and dropping his weapon with a deafening clatter.
The second guard shouted from the top of the stairs, drawing his weapon, but a sudden, deafening roar echoed through the cellar.
Bang. Bang.
From the top of the cellar stairs, Mara Ellison stepped out of the shadows holding Silas’s heavy 9mm Sig Sauer, smoke curling from the barrel. She had tracked them down through the service tunnel, refusing to let anyone touch her family or the man who had sheltered them.
The second guard dropped his weapon and threw his hands up, stumbling backward into the light.
Silas quickly used the broken pink scissors to slice through the remaining cord on his left wrist, standing up tall and shaking out his aching arms. He looked down at Poppy, who was holding up the mangled scissors with immense pride.
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“See?” Poppy beamed. “Fixed it.”
Silas let out a genuine, booming laugh—the first real laugh he had given in years. He scooped the little girl up into his arms, resting her safely against his shoulder.
