Two of the men in tactical gear are standing near the hood of the SUV, their rifles aimed directly at the front doors of the warehouse. The other two men are standing behind Preston.
The heavy metal doors of the warehouse open.
Malcolm steps out.
He doesn't have his hands raised. He doesn't look defeated. He walks out of the building with the slow, predatory grace of a man who owns the ground he is walking on. The wind catches the hem of his open coat, exposing the white shirt underneath.
He stops ten feet away from Preston.
"Where is she?" Preston asks, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet street.
"She is locked in the loft," Malcolm replies smoothly. "The steel doors will hold your men long enough for the federal agents tracking my phone to arrive."
"You destroyed your phone, Malcolm. We monitored the signal drop." Preston smiles, a cold, arrogant expression. "You are bluffing. Just like you bluffed about the SEC."
"I didn't bluff about the SEC," Malcolm says. "The files are already in the prosecutor’s inbox. The raid on the holding company is currently underway. You lost, Preston. The only thing you are accomplishing here is adding a murder charge to your federal indictment."
Preston’s smile vanishes. The realization hits him. Malcolm didn't come down here to negotiate. He came down here to stall.
"Kill him," Preston orders the two men near the hood of the SUV.
The men raise their rifles.
My brain stops calculating. The fear completely evaporates, replaced by a pure, blinding surge of adrenaline.
I step out from behind the brick wall.
I raise the heavy black gun, point it directly at the sky, and pull the trigger.
The gunshot is deafening. The sound echoes off the concrete buildings, a massive, violent crack that shatters the silence of the street.
The recoil jerks my arms upward, sending a sharp pain through my wrists, but I don't drop the weapon. I lower the barrel, aiming it directly at the group of men standing by the SUV.
Everyone freezes.
The two men with rifles whip around, aiming their weapons at me.
Preston turns, his eyes widening in absolute shock as he registers the woman in the winter coat standing in the street, holding a gun.
Malcolm doesn't look at me. He doesn't even flinch at the sound of the gunshot.
The moment the two men turn their rifles toward me, Malcolm moves.
He crosses the ten feet of space between him and the SUV in a fraction of a second. He grabs the barrel of the nearest rifle, ripping it out of the contractor’s hands with a violent, brutal force. He doesn't shoot the man. He swings the heavy stock of the rifle like a club, catching the contractor directly in the jaw. The man goes down instantly.
The second contractor turns back toward Malcolm, raising his weapon.
I don't think. I pull the trigger again.
The bullet shatters the side mirror of the SUV, inches from the second contractor’s head. He ducks instinctively, throwing his arms up to shield his face from the flying glass.
It gives Malcolm exactly the opening he needs.
Malcolm drops the rifle he is holding, grabs the second contractor by the tactical vest, and slams him brutally against the hood of the SUV. The man drops his weapon, sliding unconscious to the pavement.
The remaining two men standing behind Preston draw their sidearms.
"Drop them," a new voice echoes through the street.
