Chapter 8: Night at Carter’s Table
Chapter 8: Night at Carter’s Table
The front door shattered inward as a heavy battering ram took it off its hinges. Four men in tactical gear poured into the dining room, sweeping the area with laser sights attached to suppressed assault rifles.
"Check the back!" the lead mercenary hissed.
They moved with precision, but they were fighting ghosts in a graveyard. Marcus struck first. Dropping from the ventilation duct above the kitchen, he landed silently behind the rearguard, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch.
The leader spun around at the noise. I stepped out from behind the pie display case.
Thwip-thwip.
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Two suppressed rounds from my Sig Sauer caught him in the chest, dropping him instantly onto the checkered linoleum. The remaining two mercenaries opened fire, shredding the red leather booths and shattering the coffee mugs. Elias flanked them from the hallway, his submachine gun coughing a short, controlled burst.
In less than forty seconds, the diner was silent again.
