Chapter 13 - The Strike of the Left Paw
Marcus’s focus shattered for half a second as his eyes flicked toward the brass schematic plate mounted beside the engine.
Half a second was all Julian needed.
Violet, sensing the sudden lurch of tension, lunged from Camille’s grip with the last reserve of strength in her feline body.
The seventeen-pound cat landed squarely on Marcus’s outstretched gun arm, her front claws unsheathing like hooked steel needles.
She sank her teeth deep into the fleshy web between Marcus’s right thumb and forefinger.
Marcus shrieked in agony, dropping the radio detonator onto the metal deck.
Elena threw her head backward, slamming the crown of her skull into Marcus’s nose with a sickening crunch.
Marcus staggered backward, blood spurting from his nostrils.
Julian closed the distance like a thunderbolt.
He seized Marcus by the throat with his left hand, lifting the larger man off his feet and slamming him into the steel bulkhead.
The impact knocked the breath out of Marcus in a hollow gasp.
Julian pressed the muzzle of his weapon against Marcus’s temple.
"Give me one reason," Julian whispered, his thumb slowly drawing back the pistol’s hammer until the sear clicked into place.
"Just one."
"Julian, no!" Elena cried out, dropping to her knees on the deck.
She grabbed Julian's coat hem, her trembling hands stained with coal dust and blood.
"Don't do it."
Julian didn't look down at her.
"He put you in a burning car, Elena. He hunted you through the marsh like vermin."
"If you pull that trigger, Marcus wins," Elena breathed, coughing hard.
"He turns you into the animal the district attorney always said you were."
"The Moretti family gets dismantled by federal warrants, and everything we built to protect the dock workers burns to the ground."
She reached up, her fingers wrapping around Julian's gun hand.
"Let the river take the company. Let the courts take him."
Julian’s eyes burned into Marcus’s terrified face.
Marcus was shaking uncontrollably, urine soaking through the fabric of his trousers, the arrogance completely purged from his features.
Julian slowly, deliberately lowered the hammer of the gun.
He did not holster it.
With a short, brutal pivot of his hips, Julian drove the steel butt of the pistol into the side of Marcus’s jaw.
Marcus slumped forward onto the iron deck plates, unconscious before his forehead hit the metal.
Dante appeared at the cabin doorway, his suppressed weapon held across his chest.
"Federal Marshals and state tactical units are three minutes out, boss," Dante reported grimly.
"They picked up the distress beacon from the grounded tug."
Julian turned to look at Camille.
She was already kneeling beside Elena, wrapping her own warm wool scarf around the woman’s shaking shoulders while cradling the collapsed cat against her lap.
"Dr. Hart," Julian said, his voice softer than Camille had ever heard it.
"You need to leave through the north sluice gate before the sirens get here."
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Camille looked up from the two broken women.
"I'm not leaving my patient."
