Page 72 of Thunder

"Bullet's close. We're gonna be okay. I’m going to buy us some time." Then I turn away and get to work. I can't let her see the dread gnawing at my insides. I've faced death before, but not with her life on the line.

Dragging the coffee table across the floor, I upend it against the door, tossing a chair on top for good measure. My phone buzzes—Bullet's response: '10 minutes out. Hold on, Thunder.'

"Ten fucking minutes," I mutter under my breath. It feels like a lifetime.

Footsteps echo in the hall, mingling with muffled Italian curses and laughter. The bastards are right outside, confident they’ll soon tear down that door and rip us both to shreds. Silence descends like a guillotine, slicing through the air. My finger hovers over the trigger. This is it. No room for hesitation or fear. Just instinct and the primal drive to protect what's mine.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Antonio taunts from the other side of the door. “You’ve escaped twice before, Marcus, but you know what they say: third time’s the charm.”

"Go fuck yourself," I hiss back.

"Quite the gentleman, aren't you?" he sneers. "We'll see how charming you are with a bullet in your skull."

"Bring it on, you piece of shit," I spit as I aim my gun at the doorway, my finger hovering over the trigger, ready to unleash at the first opening. I know I'm outmatched and outnumbered, but I'll be damned if I go down without a fight.

"Marcus…" Lia whispers, her voice trembling.

"Stay put, Lia," I say, my eyes never leaving the door. "There are only two things you need to know: I’m going to get you out of here, and I love you."

Silence returns. A ghostly, damning quiet, like the world taking a deep breath before it emits a primal scream.

It inhales.

It holds.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

The silence shatters like glass, a cacophony of bullets ripping through the door and walls. Wood and plaster splinter around me, and instinct takes over. I dive flat against the floor, squeezing off shots through the disintegrating doorway. Each deafening blast feels like a punch to the gut, a battle cry in the face of death.

Then a break. A breath. A reprieve from the onslaught of murder. Our enemies reloading. That, or simply wanting to taunt us some more.

"Marcus, you can't hide forever. We'll smoke you out like the fucking rat you are," Antonio snarls, his voice oozing with venom.

"Really? You keep saying that you’re going to kill me, yet you keep disappointing me," I shout back, anger fueling each word. "When are you fucking mob guys going to give me a real challenge, huh?" My heart races, but my hand stays steady as I fire round after round at the door. I hear the men beyond it scramble for cover, curse, and I laugh. “Do I need to tie my hands behind my back? I’ve gotten pretty good at knots. Learned a lot, mostly while fucking your mother.”

“You fucking son of a bitch.”

More bullets.

A lot more bullets.

Mostly from one particular point on the other side of the door: Antonio Mancini.Apparently, he’s a momma’s boy. Typical for a mobster.

Then the others unleash a storm of bullets that blasts the hotel room door. The door groans, straining under the relentless assault of gunfire, threatening to give way any second. Gritting my teeth, I squeeze off a last volley of covering fire before launching myself toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

"Marcus!" Lia gasps, her eyes wide with terror. Her vulnerability only fuels my determination to keep her safe. “Are you hurt?”

"Stay down, Lia," I order, mind racing to find some way to hold back the attack. Our chances of survival grow slimmer by the second. “Stay down, but keep ready. You’ll be running any second.”

I press my back against the cold tiles, gun aimed at the door like it's an old enemy. Heavy breaths escape me, each one a reminder of the adrenaline surging through my veins. I risk a glance at Lia, lying face down in the bathtub, her body trembling like a leaf about to fall from a tree.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, taking a moment to check the clip of my gun. Four bullets. That's fucking it. Four bullets against an army of bloodthirsty mobsters. "God, if you're listening, now's the time to cut me some slack," I think to myself. "You never did before. You've always taken the good people from my life too soon, but now you fucking owe me."

A morbid thought races through me; if I die now, if there is an afterlife, at least I’ll see my grandma again. Now that I’m grown up, maybe I’ll find the words to express to her how grateful I am that she was in my life.

"Marcus," Lia whispers. "We should run now. Both of us. We can make it."

"Just calm down, Lia, I’m working on it," I tell her, trying to sound confident. "We'll get out of this, I promise." But even as the words leave my lips, I know they're more for me than her. I need something to believe in, something to hold on to as the world crumbles around us, so why not cling to the best thing in my life: her?

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