Chapter 3 - The Collateral of Wrath
The window shattered inward in an explosion of sparkling, jagged shards.
Andrew reached through the gap, tore the brass sash lock from the rotting pine frame, and shoved the window upward with a brutal heave.
He vaulted over the sill and hit the linoleum floor with his Sig Sauer drawn and leveled before the glass stopped falling.
"Carter! Clear left!" Lucas hissed, entering through the breach immediately behind him, his barrel sweeping the perimeter.
The small apartment was in complete ruin.
A vintage floor lamp lay sideways on the floor, its parchment shade crushed and burning slowly from the exposed heat of the bulb.
Ceramic mugs, torn student textbooks, and split mail envelopes were scattered across the soaked floorboards.
Against the far wall, Cindy was curled into a tight, trembling knot on the floor.
Her cotton pajama shirt was ripped open at the shoulder, revealing pale skin already turning deep purple with swelling.
Blood oozed from a jagged gash near her left temple, tracking down her cheekbone and dripping onto the cheap floral rug.
Her lips were split and swollen.
She was staring blankly at the wall, her chest heaving in rapid, terrified gasps as her teeth clicked together in shock.
Standing over her in the narrow corridor was David Vance.
He was broad-shouldered, dressed in a grease-stained jacket, smelling powerfully of stale beer and raw sweat.
In his right hand, he gripped an aluminum baseball bat, its tip dented from striking the plaster.
David turned toward the broken window, blinking stupidly against the rain blowing through the frame.
"Who the f—" David started, raising the aluminum bat with both hands.
He never finished the syllable.
Andrew covered the eight feet of space between them in less than half a second.
He stepped directly inside the arch of David’s swing, his left hand snapping out like a steel vise to catch the man’s windpipe.
Before David could recoil, Andrew drove the solid steel frame of his handgun directly down onto David’s right kneecap.
The sound of shattering bone was wet and loud, like a green branch snapping under a truck tire.
David let out an ear-piercing shriek of agony as his leg buckled beneath him.
Andrew did not let him drop.
He tightened his grip on David’s throat, lifted the heavier man six inches off the floor, and smashed him backward into the hallway wall.
The drywall exploded inward, sending clouds of white chalky plaster raining down over David’s shoulders.
"Look at me," Andrew whispered.
David’s eyes were wild with shock, his lips frothing with bloody saliva as he clawed desperately at Andrew’s iron grip.
"You touched her," Andrew said softly.
The silence in Andrew's voice was infinitely more terrifying than any scream.
Andrew pressed the muzzle of the weapon into the soft hollow behind David’s jawbone.
The cold steel dug deep into the flesh, forcing David’s head back until his vertebrae clicked.
"Andrew... please," a tiny, broken voice whispered from the floor.
Andrew froze.
Cindy had turned her head.
Her right eye was nearly swollen shut, but her remaining eye was wide, clear, and brimming with unspeakable sorrow.
She wasn't begging for David's life.
She was begging Andrew not to lose his humanity in her ruined living room.
"Lucas," Andrew said without looking back.
"Take this garbage out to the fire escape and secure him until I decide where to dump the remains."
"On it," Lucas said, stepping forward.
With practiced, brutal efficiency, Lucas drove his fist into David's liver, collapsing the screaming man instantly, before dragging him across the broken floorboards by his jacket collar.
The kitchen door closed, cutting off the sound of David’s choked groans.
Andrew holstered his weapon.
He took a slow, deep breath, forcing the violent tremor out of his hands before he turned toward the wall.
He dropped to both knees in the dirt and shattered glass beside Cindy.
He stripped off his soaked charcoal jacket and carefully wrapped it around her shivering shoulders.
"You're safe," Andrew whispered, his voice trembling for the first time in his adult life.
"He's never touching you again, Cindy."
Cindy reached out with a trembling, bloody hand and caught the wet fabric of his shirt.
"He found... he found the paperwork, Andrew," she wept, her forehead dropping against his chest.
"He took the encrypted drive from my briefcase... he said someone named Romano paid him fifty thousand dollars to get it."
Andrew felt every nerve in his spine turn to solid ice.
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This had never been a domestic dispute.
The Romano family had breached his sanctuary, and they had used the woman he guarded most to do it.
