Chapter 8 - The Defense of the Estate
I waited until the first man hit the landing of the stairs.
"Drop it," I barked from the shadows of the dining room.
He didn't drop it. He whipped around, raising his weapon.
I fired twice. The loud, unsuppressed cracks of my handgun shattered the silence of the mansion. The first man dropped, a bullet in his shoulder and another in his knee.
The other two scattered, diving behind the heavy marble kitchen island.
"Thomas!" I yelled into the comms piece I wore in my ear.
"I have the perimeter, Sergeant!" Thomas’s voice crackled back. "Police are three minutes out!"
Bullets shredded the drywall above my head as the mercenaries laid down cover fire. I stayed low, flanking them through the butler’s pantry. I knew this house blindly; I had played hide-and-seek in these halls for eighteen years.
I slipped behind them.
"I said drop it!" I yelled again.
May you like
Startled, one turned and fired wildly. I took him down with a clean shot to his thigh. The third man, realizing the job was completely botched and they were up against a trained shooter, threw his hands up and kicked his weapon away.
By the time the sirens wailed outside, all three men were zip-tied to the kitchen island, bleeding and groaning.
