Chapter 6 - The Bullet
CRACK!
The heavy steel crowbar smashed directly into the first mercenary’s jaw, the force of Emma’s fifty-pound flour-bag swing breaking his helmet strap and sending him crashing headfirst into the concrete wall.
The second mercenary gasped, bringing his gun up, but Emma was already moving. She charged into his midsection like an unstoppable battering ram, her broad frame slamming him into the steel doorframe. The gun skidded across the floor.
"Useless idiots!" Victor Marcone screamed, raising his silver revolver directly at Emma’s head.
Behind Emma, in the alcove, Sophie let out a silent, terrified scream. She ran out from her hiding spot, trying to throw herself between Victor’s gun and the woman who had protected her.
Emma saw the movement in her peripheral vision.
She saw the gun barrel shift toward the little girl.
Without a second thought, without a single moment of hesitation, Emma twisted her body, using her broad back and shoulders as an impenetrable shield, wrapping her arms completely around Sophie’s small body.
BANG!
A deafening report echoed through the concrete vault.
A white-hot spike of agony exploded through Emma’s upper right shoulder, burning down into her ribs like molten lead. The force of the hollow-point bullet knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing to the hard concrete floor, but her arms remained locked around Sophie, absorbing the impact so the child wouldn't hit the ground.
"Emma!" Sophie’s mind screamed, though no sound came from her throat. Tears flooded the child's face as she felt the sticky, hot blood pouring from Emma's shoulder, soaking into her cream sweater.
Victor stepped over the fallen guards, his face twisted in psychotic glee as he pointed the silver revolver at the back of Emma’s head.
"Brave girl," Victor sneered, his finger tightening around the trigger. "Die for a gangster's brat."
Before his finger could finish the pull, a shadow darker than night materialized in the doorway behind him.
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A massive, blood-stained hand reached around Victor’s neck, crushing his windpipe in a grip of pure, unrelenting steel.
Julian Vance had arrived.
