Chapter 7 - Blood on the Patio
Before I could reach the garage exit, the heavy wooden door swung open. David, Elena’s husband, stood framed in the moonlight, holding a heavy steel tire iron. He saw Elena crying on the floor and me standing there with the downloaded GPS drive in my hand.
"I knew I heard something out here," David sneered, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic panic. "You should have died in the cold, Marcus."
He lunged at me, swinging the steel bar at my skull. I ducked, the heavy iron smashing into the side of the Escalade, shattering the window. My military training, buried beneath years of suburban complacency, roared back to life. I stepped inside his guard and drove my elbow into his ribs. I heard a satisfying crack as he gasped for air.
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David stumbled back, blindly swinging the iron again. It caught me in the shoulder, sending a spike of blinding pain down my arm, but the adrenaline masked the worst of it. I grabbed his wrist, twisted it violently until the weapon clattered to the floor, and drove my knee directly into his face. David collapsed, a bloody, unconscious heap on the garage floor.
Elena screamed, covering her mouth. I picked up the tire iron and pointed it at her. "Tie him up," I commanded. "If you ever want to see your kids again, you stay in this garage and keep your mouth shut. I'm going to talk to Dad."
