Page 88 of Disavowed

Gray charged over and whipped back one side of Dom’s vest. “Goddammit.” His jaws tightened. “You shoulda told me you got fucking shot. You need—”

“Not now.” Dom shook his head. “Fire alarms are deactivated. I’ll go after Marsden. You convince the mayor’s detail to get His Honor the hell out of here, then do what you need to do to evacuate. And keep an eye out for Daisy.” Next he directed his attention to Pulaski and Griffin. “You guys meet ESU outside. If hotel security gives you any shit, handcuff their asses to those magnetometers.”

“You got it.” Pulaski turned to Griffin. “Let’s go!” he yelled.

As they all turned to move out, a woman screamed, followed by a chorus of gasps.

Colonel Bud Marsden stood on the dais next to Shane. One hand held a gun aimed at Shane, the other held the detonator.

The mayor’s protective service detail officers drew their weapons, aiming in on Marsden.

Shit.

Marsden strategically hid partially behind Shane and the podium, using both for cover. Shane’s remaining security guys had also drawn their weapons, but he doubted those clowns had a clue as to how to handle a hostage situation.

Dom gripped the SIG beneath his vest. He could take the shot, but not from here. As fine a weapon as the rifle was, it wasn’t a sniper rifle. He needed altitude and a better angle.

Time was running out. For everyone.

Jerking his head around, Dom searched the ballroom, frantically looking for a place from which to take a shot and not be seen. There was none.

“All of you will leave here alive.” Marsden held the detonator above his head as he addressed the crowd. “But first, you must listen, or I’ll blow up this hotel with all of you in it.”

Dom’s gaze landed on the balcony. He spun, but a hand on his arm halted him.

“Wait!” Gray said. “You’ve got enough medals already, so don’t be pulling any more of that hero shit and get your ass killed.”

Pausing for half a second, he tipped his chin at the man who’d been his partner and best friend for over a decade. “Same goes.” Without waiting for a response, he bolted for the stairs. Right outside Room 225 he’d have a clear shot into the ballroom. He took the stairs at a dead run, his heart racing, his shoulder throbbing like hell. He stumbled and nearly blacked out.

Shit. Stay conscious.

Taking quick breaths through his mouth, he blinked to clear his vision, then pushed from the stairs. Blood dripped onto his hand, and he wiped it on his jeans. He was losing blood faster than he’d thought.

Marsden’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom, into the lobby, drifting up to the balcony as he disgraced Shane in front of the entire city.

At the top step, Dom cranked open the rifle’s folding stock, locking it into place. Pain lanced to his shoulder, and he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He charged to the center of the balcony and rested his left forearm on the mahogany rail. His hands shook as he flicked the tiny latch to single-shot mode.

More screams punctuated the air, and men shouted, but for Dom the entire hotel was eerily silent. All he heard was his own sharp intake of breath and the blood pumping through his veins.

Daisy.

Smith had his arm clamped around her neck as he made for the ballroom steps, using her body as cover. The sonofabitch was trying to get out of there before the bomb went off.

Daisy’s eyes were wide, and she clawed at Smith’s arm, trying to dislodge it from her throat.

Ignoring the intensifying pain, Dom tightened his grip on the rifle’s stock. The rage blazing through his mind nearly incapacitated him. “That fucker. I’ll kill him.”

He wanted to take out Smith like he’d never wanted anything in his life. But Marsden came first. If the colonel hit the button on that detonator they’d all be dead.

Focus.

He took a deep, calming breath, blowing it out of his mouth. He repeated the process twice more until his hands steadied and his pulse slowed. He was barely breathing at all. He could do this. He had to or four hundred people would die.

Daisy will die.

As he sighted in through the SIG’s scope, tears trickled from Shane’s eyes and a stain darkened the CEO’s slacks as he pissed his pants. Dom tried aiming in on Marsden’s forehead, but the colonel was smart, using just enough of Shane’s bulk to shield him while still holding the audience captive with his loud, raspy voice.

“Christopher Shane, this sorry piece of inebriated garbage, killed my son. Ran him over in his pricey sports car, then took off like the coward he is.” Marsden paused to sneer at Shane. “He doesn’t deserve your applause. He deserves to pay.”