He was going for a backup piece.

“Don’t do it, Hayes,” I said, not turning my head.

“It’s over.”

“It’s never over, Natalie,” he whispered.

His hand cleared the fabric of his jacket, revealing a compact black pistol.

I didn’t hesitate.

I dropped the ledger onto the desk and lunged low.

My shoulder drove into his midsection, catching him off guard.

He grunted, the wind rushing out of him as we hit the wall.

I grabbed his right wrist with both hands, twisting it clockwise.

The bones in his wrist popped.

He cried out, his fingers spasming open.

The pistol clattered onto the hardwood floor, rolling under the heavy mahogany desk.

I swept his left leg with my boot.

He crashed down, his face slamming into the edge of the desk before he hit the floor.

I pinned his arm behind his back, driving my knee into his shoulder blade.

“Stay down,” I growled, pressing my weight into him.

He writhed beneath me, but his movements were weak.

The office door burst open with a loud splintering sound.

The heavy wood split right down the middle.