Page 95 of Zero Hour

Shit.

Blade was already moving.

Four controlled shots rang out and two bodies hit the ground. Double taps. Precise. Final.

Ryan curled up on the asphalt in shock, his eyes huge.

Al-Jabiri struggling to his knees, groaning. He felt around him for his pistol. Pat was faster.

He slammed into the terrorist, sending them both sprawling across the parking lot. The gun skidded away. Al-Jabiri snarled, lashing out.

Pat drove his fist into the bastard’s face. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed.

Al-Jabiri retaliated, kneeing him in the gut. Pat grunted, barely feeling it. He was running on something else now. Rage. Adrenaline.

Vengeance.

He punched him again. And again.

That was for Astrid. For Jasmine. For Ryan.

Al-Jabiri sagged, coughing blood, his breaths wet and ragged.

Pat kept going until he felt Blade’s heavy hand clamp down on Pat’s shoulder. “Easy.”

Pat paused, chest heaving.

Behind them, Ryan sat trembling.

Pat wiped a sleeve across his mouth, his knuckles throbbing.

“Is he dead?” the boy asked.

“Unfortunately not,” Pat said, turning to Ryan. “He just wishes he was.”

Blade, checking on the unmoving forms of the kidnappers, shook his head.

Just then, sirens could be heard descending on the warehouse.

Pat turned to Ryan. “You’re safe now.”

The boy didn’t move.

Pat reached for him, helping him to his feet. “It’s over. They can’t hurt you again.”

“My mom—” he stifled a sob.

“She’s okay,” Pat assured him. “We got her out in time.”

He nodded, although his eyes filled with tears. “I thought she was?—”

“No,” Pat interrupted. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

CHAPTER 36

Pat watched the excited crowd pour into Capital One Arena. The place was electric. Fans decked out in Lakers and Wizards jerseys, waving foam fingers, downing overpriced beers, chanting as they streamed toward the entrance.

If they only knew.

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