Page 140 of Mile High Daddy

“The garden.”

My heart slams.

Maggie lets out a shaky breath, still clutching her bleeding leg. She looks up at me, eyes glassy with pain.

“Go,” she says, her voice hoarse. She glares. “Don’t you dare waste time on me when your wife is out there.”

My chest tightens.

She’s right.

There’s no time to waste.

I move fast, cutting through the shadows of the garden, my boots barely making a sound on the damp earth. The scent of crushed flowers and gunpowder lingers in the air, the only reminder that this place was once something peaceful.

Not anymore.

A man steps out from behind a hedge, gun raised. Too slow. I fire once, the bullet punching through his skull before he can react.

Another one rushes me from the side. I duck, grab him by the collar, and slam him headfirst into a stone fountain. His body goes limp, blood dripping into the water.

Three more by the path, trying to block my way to the warehouse doors.

One lunges at me with a knife. I sidestep, twist his arm back until I hear the sharp snap of bone, then drive my blade into his chest. The next one fires at me. I roll behind a statue, then popup and take him out with two precise shots to the ribs. The last guy hesitates. I can see the moment he realizes he’s not walking out of here alive.

I give him no time to react.

I charge forward, grab the barrel of his gun, twist it to the side, and pistol-whip him so hard his skull cracks against the cobblestone.

Silence.

I exhale, gun still raised, pulse pounding.

The warehouse doors stand in front of me, slightly open. Lila is inside.

I push forward, stepping into the dim, industrial space.

And I find her.

Lila.

She’s bound to a chair, her hands tied behind her back, her breathing uneven. Her eyes fly to me the moment I enter, wide, desperate.

Relief floods her face—then vanishes when she looks past me.

I don’t hesitate. I drop low as a gun fires from the side.

The bullet whizzes over my head.

I pivot, fire back, and the man drops instantly.

Another one rushes me. I grab him by the throat, shove him against the wall, and crack his skull against the concrete.

More movement in my periphery. Two more men closing in.

I fire once. The first one drops.

The second lunges. I sidestep, grab his wrist, twist the gun from his grip, and drive my knee into his gut. As he staggers, choking for breath, I fire point-blank into his chest.

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