The gunman stopped, sweeping the weapon through the air with the wobbly authority of someone high or desperate. “The old man owes us.”
Behind him, Pipe Man swung the metal rod in a lazy arc, testing its heft. He let it drop against a table with a thunk.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said a little too calmly. The rage thundering inside me was right near the surface, ready to explode.
I risked a quick peek over the counter. Teddy knelt there, shielding Brady. In his gnarled hand was a ten-millimeter.
That was all I needed to see before I moved.
I took one step forward. “You’re on the wrong side of the highway, boys.”
“Fuck off,” the gunman screamed, but his voice cracked halfway through.
“Open the register and the safe! Now!” one of his buddies yelled.
The fourth guy, the duffel carrier, was pacing near the door. He kept glancing back toward the parking lot, nervous, tapping the strap with both hands.
Pipe Man grew impatient. He brought the rod up again, this time higher, and crashed it down on a table hard enough to make the ancient wooden piece split in two.
I lifted a chair and hurled it at the Pipe Man.
He yelped and ducked, the wood barely skimming him.
The gunman lost patience and fired a shot into the ceiling. The bullet punched through a water-stained tile, spraying plaster and dust.
A tiny yelp sounded behind me.
No one scared my son and lived.
Time slowed. The falling plaster hung in the air like snow. My focus narrowed to a laser point as I launched myself at the gunman, closing the distance in three rapid strides.
An animalistic growl tore from me as I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. I twisted it backward until something snapped. The gun fell as he howled.
With the speed of many battles giving my muscles the edge, I caught it before it hit the ground, my fingers wrapping around the grip like they were coming home.
Pipe Man rushed me from the side. I pivoted, firing a single shot into his throat. Blood flew through the air. Clutching at the wound, he collapsed, the pipe clanging against the linoleum.
The third man reached inside his jacket. Too slow. I put two rounds in his chest before he could draw whatever he was reaching for.
The lookout by the door turned to run. Why he hadn’t escaped yet, it was hard to say. His stupidity was his death sentence. I caught him with a bullet to the spine. He fell forward, face smacking against the glass door.
Three down in less than six seconds.
I stood over the gunman last. One round in the head, two in the chest. The execution was quicker than he deserved.
“It’s over,” I shouted, letting Teddy know his weapon wasn’t needed.
A rush of sneakers slapped against the floor. “Tatko!”
My boy hurled himself into my arms.
Instinct had me turning him away from the carnage, shielding him from the destruction.
“It’s alright,Hristo.It’s alright,” I murmured into his messy mop of curls. “It’s all over.”
His little body trembled. Those little fingers clutched at my shirt, pulling the neckline down. Something wet spread over my bare skin.
I tossed the gun and cupped his head. Nothing was more important in this moment than holding him close. He was never in any real danger. These were just punks from rough homes, thinking they could make a quick buck—
