Victor forced a crooked smile, trying to show his men he wasn’t rattled. “You’re not at the front now, soldier,” he snapped. “This town has its own rules, and I’m about to explain them to you.” He gave his enforcers a quick signal to close in.
The skinny one with the knife moved first, counting on speed. He lunged, aiming the blade at Mike’s throat. Mike didn’t even flinch. His reflexes were faster by a fraction that mattered.
He shifted his body just enough to let the blade pass by, then clamped onto the attacker’s wrist and twisted hard. Bone cracked. The knife clattered away. The man let out a high, helpless scream.
Mike didn’t waste time finishing him. He shoved the injured man straight into the scar-faced thug with the crowbar. The bigger man stumbled, thrown off balance for one fatal second.
Mike closed the distance in a burst. His fist drove into the man’s nose with crushing force. Cartilage broke with a sickening crunch, and the thug dropped to the floor, blood spilling across the linoleum.
The whole exchange took maybe three seconds.
Mary covered Annie’s eyes, trying to spare her from the sight of what had just happened, even though it was the only thing keeping them safe. She had never seen her husband like this—not the gentle man she knew at home, but the fighter war had made of him.
Victor Kane was suddenly alone against a man who had just dismantled two armed enforcers with his bare hands. The color drained from the crime boss’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead. At last he yanked the nonlethal pistol from his pocket, but his hands were shaking so badly the barrel wavered.
Mike straightened slowly and stepped over the groaning men on the floor. He looked at Victor with the flat, steady stare of someone who had already made peace with danger. He was not afraid of the black muzzle pointed at his chest.
“Go ahead,” Mike said, taking one more step forward. “Use it if you think you can.”
His voice was level, almost conversational, and that made it worse. Victor swallowed. He understood now that he was cornered in the apartment of the man he had come to rob.
Outside, an air-raid siren started up again, giving the whole scene a surreal edge. The sound drifted through the windows and mixed with the groans of the men on the floor and the breathing of the people still standing. Mike never took his eyes off Victor.
The air in the bright little kitchen had become almost solid with fear and hatred. Victor Kane gripped the handle of the black nonlethal pistol so hard his knuckles whitened, while sweat ran into his eyes. He understood now, in the most basic way, that the filthy, battle-worn soldier in front of him would not stop until his family was safe.
The local crime boss searched desperately for some way out. His alcohol-fogged mind could not fully process how two armed men had been taken down so quickly by one exhausted infantryman. Then his eyes flicked to the far corner, where Mary was still shielding Annie.
A nasty little smile spread across Victor’s face. He had found the one vulnerable point in the room.
With a jerky motion, he swung the pistol away from Mike’s chest and aimed it at five-year-old Annie instead.
That cowardly move was the mistake that ended everything.
“Don’t move!” Victor shouted, his voice cracking. “One more step and I put a round into the kid!” The threat came out shrill and ugly, stripped of all pretense. He thought he had found leverage.
For Mike, time slowed to a crawl. The exhaustion vanished completely, replaced by a cold, precise focus. The sight of a weapon aimed at his daughter pushed him past every remaining limit.
Mary cried out and threw herself in front of Annie without hesitation, ready to take the shot herself if she had to. Annie clung to her mother and sobbed harder.
“On your knees,” Victor yelled. “Now. Or I shoot.” He shifted his feet nervously, trying not to slip in the blood spreading across the floor from one of his men. He was convinced he had regained control.
Mike knew exactly what a weapon like that could do at close range. He also knew one wrong move could end in disaster. His mind worked through angles, timing, distance, reaction speed.
Then, with enormous control, he began to lower himself as if complying. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never left Victor’s finger on the trigger.
Every inch of that movement was part of a plan.
Seeing the soldier appear to give in, Victor let out a breath and relaxed just a little. The smug look crept back onto his face. He even let the barrel drift a few inches off target, enjoying what he thought was his moment of dominance…
