Chapter 7 - The Glass and the GunBefore Julian could process the warning, Ethan whipped his arm upward with blistering, street-fighter speed.
He didn't throw a punch. He hurled a heavy, one-liter glass soda bottle straight out of his canvas sack.
The bottle smashed directly against the overhead fluorescent light fixture with a deafening CRASH, showering the room in a blinding explosion of white sparks and darkness as the electrical grid short-circuited.
"Shoot him!" Julian screamed in blind panic.
The tactical mercenaries opened fire, but in the sudden, pitch-black darkness of the ruined hospital room, their suppressed rifles spat bullets blindly into empty air, riddling the drywall and shattering the remaining windows.
William Carter didn't hesitate. Trained in hand-to-hand combat during his youth before building his corporate empire, the billionaire moved like a panther through the dark. He lunged across the room, tackling the lead mercenary by the throat and slamming him hard against the concrete pillar.
At the same time, Ethan sprinted low to the ground, diving straight toward Julian Vance's legs.
Thud!
Ethan slammed his shoulder into Julian’s knees with the force of a desperate street kid. Julian lost his footing, his legs buckling beneath him as he crashed backward onto the floor.
The pistol flew from his hand, skidding across the polished linoleum into the shadows.
But as Julian fell, the bundle in his arms slipped.
"Leo!" William roared, abandoning the mercenary and lunging through the darkness toward the tumbling form of his son.
With a desperate, superhuman dive, William caught the baby blanket just inches before it hit the shattered glass on the floor. He pulled the infant tight against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thump of a healthy heartbeat against his palm.
Leo let out a soft, sleepy whimper, completely unaware of the war raging around him.
Meanwhile, Marcus Vance—finding a sudden, unexpected surge of adrenaline—picked up a heavy steel IV pole from the floor and brought it down squarely across the back of the second mercenary's head, sending the tactical operative crashing face-first into unconsciousness.
The third mercenary raised his rifle toward William, but before he could pull the trigger, Ethan swung his canvas sack full of heavy glass bottles in a wide, vicious arc, cracking it against the mercenary’s helmet with a resounding CLANG.
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The man staggered backward, tripped over a fallen medical cart, and knocked himself out cold against the wall.
Silence descended on Room 412, broken only by the crackle of exposed electrical wires and the heavy, ragged breathing of the men in the room.
