Chapter 7 - The Escape
Before Silas’s hand could clear his holster, Gregory’s arm moved like lightning.
A heavy iron wrench, hidden in his sleeve, caught Silas across the side of his face.
The crack was loud, like a pistol shot.
Silas stumbled backward, blood spraying from his split lip, crashing into a stack of wooden crates.
“Go! Out the back!” Gregory roared.
The bar erupted into absolute chaos.
Silas’s loyalists drew their weapons, while the older men who supported Roman’s memory threw themselves into the fray.
Fists flew, glass shattered, and chairs were smashed into kindling.
Gregory grabbed Lyra, lifting her effortlessly under one arm, and charged toward the back door.
Marcus covered their retreat, using his massive body to block two of Silas’s thugs who tried to pursue them.
“Run!” Marcus yelled, taking a heavy blow to the jaw but refusing to yield.
They burst out into the cold night air.
The rain was pouring now, washing over the gravel lot.
Gregory threw Lyra into the passenger seat of an old, battered black pickup truck that was idling in the alley.
He hopped into the driver's seat, slammed the truck into reverse, and tore out of the alleyway just as bullets began to chip the brick walls behind them.
In the passenger seat, Lyra looked out the window.
The neon sign of the bar, The Wolf’s Den, faded into the misty distance.
May you like
She touched her father’s ring.
The war had officially begun.
