Chapter 8 - The Price of a Breath
""There is no drive,"" David said, raising his empty hands as he stood partially from behind the table. ""The money is gone. I spent it on medical bills. Every last cent.""
Cole’s flashlight beam shifted from Marcus’s revolver straight into David’s eyes, blinding him in a cone of white luminescence. ""Then you don't have anything to negotiate with, do you, Dave?""
From the back hallway, behind the closed door of the laundry room pantry, a distinct, fragile cry echoed. Maya was weeping, her voice muffled but unmistakably clear.
Cole’s head turned toward the sound. A cruel smile touched the corner of his thin mouth. ""Well now. Looks like you do have collateral.""
He racked the slide of the shotgun. The mechanical clatter was deafening in the enclosed room. He took a single step toward the kitchen door.
""Don't you dare,"" David roared, throwing himself forward across the overturned table.
A muzzle flash tore through the dining room.
The report was deafening, the pressure wave rattling the surviving glassware in the china cabinet. But it hadn't come from Cole's weapon.
Marcus had fired twice. The heavy slugs caught Cole in the chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him hard against the shattered doorframe. The flashlight flew from Cole's hand, spinning across the floorboards and illuminating the ceiling in erratic circles before coming to rest near David's knees.
The second man in the windbreaker fired blindly into the dark, the bullets chewing through the overturned table, showering David in splinters of fine mahogany.
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""David, run!"" Marcus screamed, rolling toward the kitchen doorway to lay down covering fire. ""Get them out the back! Now!""
David didn't look back. He scrambled on his hands and knees through the kitchen, sliding across the slick linoleum toward the pantry door.
