Chapter 6 - The First Strike in the DarkThe kitchen was bathed in the dim, flickering blue light of the living room television left playing on mute. Enforcer A was peering out the darkened window, muttering curses about the power failure, his submachine gun dangling loosely from his right hand.
He never heard me approach.
In three silent paces, I closed the distance between us. Before he could turn his head, I brought the heavy steel butt of my Glock down sharply against the base of his skull.
He didn't scream. He simply went limp, his eyes rolling back as his knees buckled. I caught him by the collar before he hit the tile floor, easing his unconscious body down behind the kitchen island so he wouldn't make a sound. I relieved him of his submachine gun, checked the safety, and leaned it against the counter out of reach.
At the dining table, Emily gasped softly, her eyes widening as she looked up and saw me standing in the shadows of the kitchen.
I raised a single finger to my lips, pressing it against my mouth. Shh.
Color rushed back into Emily’s face, replaced instantly by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock mixed with immense, overwhelming relief. She nodded once, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the table.
Across the room in the living area, the sudden silence caught Voss’s attention.
"Miller?" Voss called out, turning toward the kitchen. "Did you check the breaker? What’s taking so long?"
When no answer came, Enforcer B pushed off the wall by the hallway, drawing his pistol and stepping cautiously toward the kitchen archway. "Boss, something’s wrong. The lights didn't just trip; the main box is locked from the outside."
"Check it out," Voss snapped, his voice dropping an octave as panic began to edge into his tone. "If there’s an intruder, take care of it quietly. We don't need complications."
Enforcer B crept forward, his weapon raised, his eyes scanning the dark corners of the kitchen. He stepped past the island, his boots crunching lightly on a stray piece of gravel tracked in from the rain.
He didn't see me until the cold barrel of my Glock pressed firmly against the side of his neck.
"Drop the weapon," I said, my voice cold, flat, and carrying the absolute authority of eighteen years of federal tactical command. "Drop it now, or you won't live to regret the alternative."
The man froze, the color draining from his face as he realized he was completely outmatched. His fingers spasmed, and his pistol clattered loudly against the hardwood floor.
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Before he could react, I swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing hard to the floor, and brought the heel of my boot down across his wrist, pinning him securely.
In the living room, the sudden clatter of the falling gun made Daniel scream out in blind terror.
