Chapter 8 - A Bullet Meant for Two
The deafening retorts of Evelyn's pistol filled the smoky bedroom. The lead operative staggered backward with a choked cry, two rounds piercing his tactical vest at point-blank range, dropping him hard onto the shattered threshold.
The second intruder lunged forward, sweeping his rifle barrel down to knock the gun from Evelyn’s hand. The Glock skittered across the floorboards into the darkness.
The man grabbed Evelyn by the collar of her robe, hauling her roughly to her feet. Another agonizing contraction ripped through her abdomen, forcing a cry of pure agony from her lips. She kicked violently at his shins with her bare feet, her fingernails tearing across his cheek.
“Shut up, woman!” the man growled, raising the butt of his rifle to strike her across the temple.
He never swung it.
The back of the man's head exploded in a crimson mist as a single high-caliber bullet ripped through the master bedroom window, punching through the reinforced glass that had already been fractured by the earlier blast.
The intruder collapsed like a puppet with severed strings.
From the hallway, the sound of devastating, controlled violence erupted. Heavy shotgun blasts tore through the drywall, followed by the agonized screams of Rostov's men.
Roman Calder moved through the doorway like an avenging demon.
His face was streaked with soot and rain, his eyes completely consumed by a feral, unyielding fury. In his right hand, a Benelli tactical shotgun smoked; in his left, his Kimber .45 finished off the last standing assailant with two rapid, merciless shots.
“Evelyn!” Roman roared, dropping the weapons and sliding onto his knees beside her in the debris.
He gathered her trembling form into his arms, his massive hands desperately checking her face, her shoulders, her torso. “Look at me. Look at me, Evie. Are you hit? Did they hurt you?”
“The baby,” she gasped, clutching his soaking lapels as another contraction tore through her. “Roman… the baby is coming. The water broke when the blast hit.”
Roman’s face, pale and hardened by battle, softened into a look of absolute vulnerability. He looked down and saw the puddle spreading beneath her hem, mixed with the plaster dust on the floor.
From the ruined doorway, Marcus Vance appeared, his weapon at the low ready. “Boss, the house is clear. Rostov’s secondary team is neutralized outside. But the roads down the lakefront are blocked by downed power lines from the storm.”
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Roman scooped his pregnant wife into his arms, lifting her effortlessly against his chest.
“Radio Dr. Chen at the private clinic,” Roman barked, carrying Evelyn toward the back service stairs. “Tell him to prep the operating theater. If we can't drive down the highway, we take the boat across the basin.”
