The Discarded Wife
Jaxon roared, ripping the blade free and using the falling body as a human shield against a frantic burst of suppressed gunfire.
From the dark archway of the central corridor, Killian stepped into the crossfire.
He was a portrait of cold, calculated execution. He didn't run. He walked with a measured, terrifying calm, his heavy sidearm rising and falling with rhythmic, mechanical precision. Crack. Crack. Crack. Three shots rang out, deafening in the enclosed space. Three mercenaries dropped to the floor, their night-vision optics shattered, completely neutralized before they even registered his position.
Julian screamed, thrashing wildly in the chair as hot brass cascaded onto the floor besi