Chapter 6 - The Turning PointTime seemed to fracture into slow motion.
The mercenary’s finger tightened on the trigger of his submachine gun.
In that split second, all the fear, all the paralysis, all the phantom agony of the past two years vanished, burned away by a surge of pure, primal adrenaline. I grabbed the wheels of my chair with both hands, shoving forward with every ounce of upper-body strength I possessed, smashing my heavy custom chair right into Emma’s waist and knocking her hard to the side, out of the line of fire.
Bang.
A bullet splintered the wood of the wall right where Emma's head had been a fraction of a second before.
Before the mercenary could adjust his aim for a second shot, I leveled my Glock and fired twice through the center of his chest. He staggered backward, dropped his weapon, and collapsed heavily onto the Persian rug, motionless.
Silence descended on the corridor, broken only by the ragged, synchronized breathing of Emma and myself.
I dropped my gun onto my lap, my arms trembling from the exertion, the sudden spike of adrenaline leaving a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. I quickly wheeled my chair around to face her. She was sitting on the floor, scrambling backward against the wall, her hands covered in dust and a small scrape bleeding on her forearm.
"Are you hit?" I demanded, my voice cracking slightly as I scanned her body for injuries. "Emma, talk to me. Are you hit?"
She looked down at her scraped arm, then up at my face. Instead of crying or hyperventilating, she let out a hysterical, breathless laugh.
"You just... you just rammed me with your wheelchair," she said, her voice shaking.
"I saved your life, you stubborn idiot!" I snapped, though my hands were shaking as I reached down to help her up, grabbing her uninjured arm and hauling her gently to her feet. "What were you thinking, jumping in front of a gun?!"
"What were you doing, coming out of your study alone?!" she fired back, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she grabbed the lapels of my jacket, pulling herself close. "They wanted to kill you, Danny! They were going to kill you!"
"They were coming for you," I growled, though my anger dissolved the moment I felt her trembling against me.
"Because of you!" she whispered fiercely. "Because your enemies hate you!"
"And now they're going to pay for it," I said, my voice dropping into a lethal, ice-cold register. "Mercer has crossed the line for the last time. This ends tonight."
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as Luke and half a dozen armed enforcers finally swarmed around the corner, weapons drawn, ready for a bloodbath. Luke took in the scene at a glance—two dead mercenaries on the rug, the third bleeding out down the hall, and Emma standing close to my chair with her hands gripping my jacket.
Luke lowered his rifle slowly, letting out a long breath. "Boss... are you both alright?"
"Get a clean-up crew in here immediately," I ordered, my eyes locked on Luke. "And prep the private chopper. We're paying Colin Mercer a visit."
May you like
Luke’s eyes widened slightly. "You're going to his estate? Personally?"
"No more playing defense," I said, my voice cutting through the hall like a razor blade. "We’re burning his empire to the ground before the sun comes up."
