Chapter 6 - A Mother’s Ferocity
The gas incapacitated most of the intruders, but Marcus and three of his elite killers had managed to bypass the foyer before the doors locked. They were making their way toward the kitchen.
Gunfire erupted as Declan engaged them in the hallway, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
Silas drew a sleek, suppressed pistol from a hidden compartment on his wheelchair. "Clara, stay down. Do not move," he commanded.
Suddenly, a side door to the kitchen burst open. One of Marcus's men had flanked them. He raised his weapon at Silas, smiling cruelly at the paralyzed boss.
Before Silas could adjust his aim, Clara moved.
Driven by the primal, terrifying instinct of a mother protecting her child, she grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove and swung it with everything she had. The iron connected with the back of the gunman’s skull with a sickening crack.
The man collapsed in a heap.
Silas stared at Clara. She was shaking violently, her chest heaving, the skillet still gripped in her white-knuckled hands.
"Nice swing," Silas said quietly, genuine respect lacing his voice.
"Don't compliment me," Clara snapped, tears of adrenaline in her eyes. "Just kill them so we can go home!"
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At that moment, Declan walked into the kitchen, wiping blood from his cheek. "Hallway is clear. Marcus got away, but he’s bleeding. He lost his whole crew."
Silas looked down at the unconscious man Clara had neutralized. "The tide has turned. Now, we break their minds."
