Chapter 4 - The Kitchen Massacre
Darian fired twice before the assassins could fully level their automatic weapons.
One man dropped instantly to the tiled floor, a bullet lodged perfectly in the center of his skull.
The second man dove desperately behind a stainless-steel preparation counter, narrowly dodging the lethal shot.
Deafening gunfire rained down on Darian and Nadia, forcing them to crouch tightly behind a massive commercial oven.
"I only have two bullets left in this clip," Darian cursed violently, checking his weapon.
"I foolishly left my spare magazines in the glove box of the car."
Nadia gripped the heavy, wooden handle of the meat cleaver until her knuckles turned entirely white.
"Where is the closest rear exit?" she asked, her voice shockingly calm in the midst of the firefight.
"It is right through the loading dock, but he has us completely pinned down," Darian grunted in frustration.
Nadia looked frantically around the industrial kitchen, her eyes landing on a massive, industrial vat of boiling frying oil.
She did not wait for Darian to formulate a better tactical plan.
She crawled aggressively across the slippery floor, staying dangerously below the line of incoming enemy fire.
"Nadia, what the hell are you doing?" Darian hissed, trying to grab her arm.
She reached the massive fryer and grabbed the heavy, red metal handle of the emergency release valve.
The assassin popped up from behind the metal counter to fire another blinding volley of bullets.
Nadia yanked the release valve wide open with all of her remaining strength.
Ten gallons of boiling, searing oil poured directly onto the floor, rushing in a tidal wave toward the assassin's combat boots.
The man shrieked in absolute, blood-curdling agony as the liquid fire melted completely through his shoes.
He dropped his expensive weapon, completely consumed by the sudden, overwhelming pain.
Darian did not hesitate for a single second.
He stepped bravely out from cover and fired a single, perfect shot into the burning man's chest.
The kitchen went deathly quiet, save for the horrifying sound of hot oil sizzling on the tile floor.
Darian stared at Nadia, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily.
"Remind me never to complain about your aggressive cleaning methods again," he muttered in sheer disbelief.
They ran through the swinging back doors and burst out onto the dark, concrete loading dock.
The freezing winter wind hit Nadia's bare shoulders and back like a physical, icy blow.
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They rushed desperately toward Darian's waiting armored town car in the dark alleyway.
But as they approached, they saw the driver slumped heavily against the steering wheel, a neat, fatal bullet hole in the glass.
