Chapter 8 - THE TURN OF THE TIDETime seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl.
I saw Margaret’s thumb begin to depress the plunger. I saw Elena squeeze her eyes shut, a single tear rolling down her pale cheek. I saw Ethan’s face twist into an expression of raw, apocalyptic grief and fury.
My training as a physical therapist, my nerves, my instincts—everything clicked into a hyper-focused, razor-sharp gear. I didn't aim for Vance. I didn't aim for Margaret’s chest.
I raised my suppressed 9mm pistol, tracked the silver barrel of the syringe in Margaret’s hand, and squeezed the trigger.
Pfft.
A muffled crack echoed through the penthouse.
The bullet struck the glass body of the syringe dead-center, shattering the plastic tube into a thousand microscopic fragments and sending the lethal fluid spraying harmlessly into the air.
Margaret shrieked in shock, dropping the shattered remnants of the needle as her hand burst open with a bloody gash from the flying plastic shards.
Before Vance could even blink, Ethan exploded into motion.
In a fraction of a second, Ethan crossed the room like a freight train, slamming his heavy combat boot into Vance’s chest and sending the executive chair crashing backward through the glass desk. Glass and whiskey bottles exploded everywhere.
Vance gasped for air as Ethan pinned him to the floor, jamming the barrel of his rifle directly under Vance’s chin.
“Move an inch,” Ethan whispered, his voice dripping with absolute death, “and I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders.”
Across the room, Margaret scrambled backward on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand, her eyes wide with sudden, unadulterated terror. She looked up just in time to see me standing over her, my pistol locked firmly between her eyes.
“You’re out of pawns, Margaret,” I said coldly, cocking the hammer of the gun.
Margaret’s face turned ashen. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
With a swift, devastating kick, I caught her square in the jaw, sending her crashing unconscious onto the marble floor.
Within seconds, the heavy double doors of the penthouse burst open, and Kuro and the rest of Ethan’s strike team poured into the room, subduing the remaining guards before they could even react.
I didn't wait. I rushed over to the corner of the room, pulled a tactical knife from my belt, and sliced through the thick nylon zip-ties binding Elena to the chair.
Elena slumped forward into my arms, trembling violently, gasping for air.
May you like
“You’re safe,” I murmured, holding her tight. “You’re going home.”
Ethan walked over, pulling us both into his arms. For the first time in six long, agonizing years, the Caldwell family was finally, truly reunited.
