Chapter 28 - The Crossfire of Desperation
I lunged forward with explosive speed, my left hand clamping down like an iron vice over the cylinder of Julian's revolver, jamming the mechanism so the hammer couldn't strike. With my right elbow, I smashed him directly across his sunburned nose with all the force of my body weight.
Julian screamed in agony as cartilage crunched beneath the blow. Blood exploded from his nostrils, and he stumbled backward against the mahogany wardrobe.
Noah slipped from his loosening grip.
I dove toward the floor, catching the bundled blanket in my arms before Noah could strike the hard deck. I pulled my child tight against my chest, rolling onto my back to shield his tiny body with my own flesh and bone.
"You bitch!" Julian roared, wiping blood from his shattered face. He recovered his balance, raising the heavy revolver with both hands, aiming directly at my head as I lay trapped on the cabin floor.
"Julian, no!" Victoria screamed from the corner, covering her face.
Before Julian could pull the trigger, the reinforced porthole behind him shattered into a million silver shards.
*Crack!*
A high-velocity sniper round from Dominic's team tore through the fiberglass hull, striking Julian squarely in his right shoulder. The impact spun him around like a rag doll, the revolver flying from his hand and sliding across the wet floor toward my boots.
Julian collapsed to his knees, howling in agony, clutching his shattered shoulder as dark red blood poured over his white linen shirt.
The master stateroom door flew wide open. Dominic rushed in, rifle raised, flanked by two armed operatives who immediately pinned Julian to the floor with heavy combat boots against his neck. Another operative moved swiftly to zip-tie Victoria's shaking wrists.
"Target secured!" Dominic called out over the radio. "Clara, are you hit?!"
I sat up, gasping for air, ignoring the chaos and the shouts around me. I pulled back the edge of the blue flannel blanket.
Noah was crying loudly now—a full-throated, furious wail. His little fists were pumping against the air, his cheeks flushed with fever, but his chest was rising and falling with strong, beautiful breaths. He was alive. He was whole. He was in my arms.
May you like
"I have him," I sobbed, pressing my face into the warmth of his small neck, burying my tears in his soft hair. "I have my baby."
***
