Something hot scores across my left bicep. I don't look. I don't care. It’s just a graze, a reminder that I’m made of meat and bone.
The adrenaline is a roar in my ears now. The world is nothing but targets and angles.
"Two on the east side. They’re bypassing the doors. Side window. Now.”Mitzy’s voice is sharp enough to cut.
I’m moving before she finishes the sentence. I hit the hallway, shoulder-checking the wall for stability. A face appears in the glass—dark mask, dead eyes. I fire through the pane. The glass spiderwebs, the round deflecting slightly, but it catches him in the shoulder. He spins away, howling. His partner retreats into the shadows of the neighbor’s fence, seeking better cover.
Five down. Three left.
The house is a wreck. Shattered glass, overturned furniture, the copper-sweet smell of fresh blood mixing with the acrid bite of cordite. Upstairs, Rosie is crying. It’s a jagged, heartbroken sound.
Every sob is a bullet. They don't get past me. I am the wall.
"Echo ETA?" I rasp.
"Eight minutes, Riot. They’re over the city limits. Hold the line."
Eight minutes. I could do eight minutes in my sleep in Kandahar. But here, with a child upstairs, every second feels like a year.
I relocate to the base of the stairs. It’s the ultimate fatal funnel. If they want the girl, they have to come through me. I hear commands outside. Spanish. Rapid-fire. They’rereassessing. They realize this isn't a "soft" witness protection site. They realize they’re fighting an operator.
"Riot, one’s moving back,"Mitzy says."Different angle. He’s going for the neighbor's fence."
If he clears that fence, he has a clear line of sight to the back bedroom window. He doesn't even have to enter the house to end this.
I can't be in two places.
Footsteps on the porch. The front door breach is coming again.
Two men. Professionals. They use a flashbang this time.
The world goes white. A roar of sound. My ears ring, a high-pitched whine that drowns out the world. My vision is spots and blurred edges.
I fire blindly toward the door, forcing them to stay back. I blink, shaking my head, my vision clearing just enough to see a silhouette. I take the first man through the shattered window. Clean drop. The second dives behind their SUV, pinned by my fire. He starts shooting blind, suppressive rounds meant to keep my head down.
Six down. Two left.
I break for the back of the house. I have to stop the fence-jumper. The SUV guy is pinning the front, but I trust the oak table to hold. I clear the kitchen, hit the back door, and scan the yard through the smoke.
The fence guy is at the top. Leg over. He’s aiming his rifle at the second floor.
I raise my weapon. Fifty feet. Moving target. High stakes.
Breathe. Squeeze.
The shot is perfect.
He drops on the far side of the fence like a stone. I don’t wait to confirm. I’m already turning, racing back to the front roomwhere the last hostile is still hammer-firing from behind the vehicle.
"Contact. One left at the front SUV.”
"Copy. Echo is six minutes out. Just hold, Riot. Don't be a hero."
"Watch me."
I take a position at the remains of the front window. The last man is dug in deep behind the engine block. We trade lead. He tries to advance twice, using the vehicle as a shield. I drive him back both times. A round ruffles my hair, slamming into the doorframe an inch from my temple.
I return fire, catching him in the thigh. He screams, dragging himself back behind the tire.
