The Quiet Vengeance of a Protector Who Refused to Let Two Children Cry
“On it, boss,” his voice crackled back.
A volley of gunfire chipped at the reinforced glass of my windshield, spiderwebbing the outer layer but failing to penetrate.
I pushed the accelerator down.
The heavy bumper of my SUV slammed into the front fender of the armored truck with a deafening crunch of steel.
The impact jarred my teeth, but the armored truck shifted just enough.
I squeezed through the gap, the side panels of my vehicle scraping against the metal with a shower of sparks.
Behind us, Marco’s vehicle fired a flashbang grenade, blinding the shooters in the fog.
I did not look back.
I pressed hard on the gas, heading straight toward the secondary coordinates I had memorized.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, looking at the mirror.
Lily shook her head, her eyes wide but dry.
Owen kept his face buried in the worn fabric of his bear.
“Good,” I said. “We are almost there.”
Ten minutes later, the lights of a secure federal facility appeared through the mist.
It was a drab, concrete building surrounded by high chain-link fences topped with razor wire.