Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
The sound of the breaking window was followed by a heavy, wet thud as someone climbed through the frame into the cabin.
"Marcus," a voice called out. It was Leonard. He sounded calm, almost bored, as if he were simply arriving for a casual business meeting rather than a home invasion. "Sarah. Let’s not do this the hard way. I know you're in here. The truck is parked in the driveway."
"Get out of my house, Leonard," Sarah’s voice rang out, sharp and steady. "The police are already on their way. The feds have Derek."
"Derek was an amateur," Leonard said, his footsteps crunching slowly over the broken glass. "He thought he could play with the big boys, but he was soft. He didn't have the stomach for what was necessary. But I do."
"You won't make it out of here alive, Leonard," Marcus warned. His voice sounded like it was coming from the far side of the living room, near the fireplace.
"Maybe not," Leonard agreed. "But I’m not leaving empty-handed. If I bring the cartel their fifteen million dollars back, they’ll overlook my failure to keep Derek in line. And to get that money, I need Sarah’s decryption key. And to get that key, I think I’ll start by taking a few fingers off the little girl."
In the dark pantry, Lily let out a tiny, stifled gasp. I pressed my hand over her mouth, my tears hot against my own skin. Not her. Please, God, not her.
"You'll have to go through me first," Marcus growled.
A deafening roar shattered the silence of the cabin.
The gunshot was so loud in the enclosed space that my ears instantly began to ring. It was followed by another shot, and then the sound of splintering wood and a heavy body slamming against the dining table.
"Marcus!" Sarah screamed.
More shots fired—three in rapid succession. Someone let out a pained grunt, followed by the sound of a heavy metal object clattering across the wooden floor.
"Damn it!" Sarah yelled.
"Drop it, Sarah," Leonard’s voice commanded. He sounded slightly out of breath now, but his tone was still chillingly calm. "You're a good accountant, but you're a terrible shot. Now, where is the wife?"
Silence.
"Claire!" Leonard called out. "I know you're in here. Come out, and I promise I'll make it quick for you and the kid. Otherwise, I'm going to start shooting through every door in this place."
My breath caught in my throat. I looked at the wooden door of the pantry. It was thick, but it wouldn't stop a bullet. If he started shooting through the doors, Lily and I would be trapped like fish in a barrel.
I looked around the dark pantry in desperation. My hands brushed against the wooden shelves, feeling the cans of food, the jars of preserves.
And then, my fingers wrapped around something heavy and metallic.
It was a cast-iron skillet, hanging from a hook on the back wall.
I gripped the heavy handle. It was solid, heavy, and cold.
"Claire," Leonard’s voice was closer now. His footsteps were approaching the kitchen area. "I'm counting to three."
"One."
I gently set Lily down in the corner of the pantry, behind a stack of storage bins. "Stay here, baby," I whispered. "No matter what happens, do not make a sound."
"Two."
I stood up, holding the skillet in both hands, raising it over my shoulder. I stood right next to the door, my back pressed against the wall.
"Three."
A heavy kick slammed against the pantry door. The wooden frame groaned, but the lock held.
"Ah, the pantry," Leonard muttered.
Another kick, much harder this time. The wood splintered around the deadbolt.
With one final, violent stomp, the door burst open, swinging inward with a loud crash.
Leonard stepped into the dark opening, his gun raised, his eyes scanning the darkness of the pantry.
Before he could look to his left, I brought the heavy cast-iron skillet down with every single ounce of strength, terror, and rage I had in my body.
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The heavy iron connected with the side of his head with a sickening, metallic CLANG.
Leonard didn't even have time to scream. His eyes rolled back into his head, his gun slipped from his fingers, and his body collapsed backward onto the kitchen floor like a felled tree, completely unconscious.
