Chapter 8 - THE FINAL CHARGEThe trigger clicked.
Before the firing pin could strike the primer, Patch launched himself off the floor like a missile.
The gray shepherd didn't aim for Julian’s arm or his weapon. He hit Julian squarely in the chest with seventy pounds of hard muscle and fury, knocking the hitman off balance just as the rifle discharged.
Bang!
The bullet tore harmlessly through the ceiling tiles, showering the room in plaster dust.
Julian stumbled backward, tripping over the shattered glass on the floor, his rifle clattering out of his grip. But before he could recover, Miller lunged forward, slamming his heavy metal handcuffs across Julian’s wrists with brutal, uncompromising force.
"It's over, Julian," Miller panted, pinning the syndicate leader to the bloody linoleum. "You're done."
In the bed, Viktor Vance let out a long, shuddering sigh. His head rolled back against the pillow, his pale blue eyes losing their fierce, manic spark. The monitor beside him began to emit a slow, rhythmic flatline tone.
Wren stepped forward, gently pushing past the commotion. She reached out and placed her fingers against the side of Viktor’s neck. There was no pulse. The man who had destroyed her youth, only to spend seven years orchestrating her silent protection from the shadows, was gone.
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On the floor beside the bed, Patch sat down, letting out a soft, mournful whine that echoed through the silent hospital room.
Wren knelt down beside the scarred dog, wrapping her arms around his thick neck and burying her face in his coarse fur. For the first time in seven years, the cold numbness inside her chest completely shattered, washing away in a flood of hot, silent tears.
