Chapter 7 - The Last Stand in Cape Harbor
Julian vaulted over the counter, rolling behind an industrial flour bin just as a heavy combat boot kicked open the splintered front door. Two masked operatives clad in tactical black stepped into the dim interior of the bakery, their assault rifles sweeping the room.
“Clear,” the lead operative barked into a comms mic.
“Not quite,” Julian said from the shadows.
Bang. Bang.
Two precise muzzle flashes cut through the dark. Both operatives dropped instantly, their weapons clattering against the flour-dusted floor.
More footsteps crunched on the exterior gravel. At least four or five more men were fanning out around the building, setting up a perimeter to burn the place down. Julian checked his magazine—he had six rounds left. Not nearly enough for a prolonged shootout.
He tapped his encrypted tactical watch, activating a short-range emergency beacon.
“Vance actual,” he whispered into the comms link. “I have multiple hostile contacts at coordinates Maine-Seven. Drop everything and extract my family. Now.”
“Copy, Boss. Choppers are fifty miles out. Hold the line,” Walter’s voice crackled back.
May you like
Julian didn't have fifty miles. He had minutes.
He grabbed a heavy metal rolling pin from the prep table, slipped toward the back exit, and vanished into the shadows of the alleyway to draw the assassins away from Clara and Leo.
