Chapter 3 - The Broken Trust
Mark racked the shotgun, the metallic click echoing loudly in the confined space of the garage.
He was only nineteen, a kid I had mentored and treated like a son for the past three years.
His hands were visibly shaking, but the barrel of the gun was pointed squarely at my chest.
"I am so sorry, Grant, but they paid me more money than I could ever make in a lifetime," Mark stammered.
Tessa whimpered and buried her face into my side, trembling like a leaf.
Miles began to cry loudly, the noise amplifying the sheer chaos of the moment.
"You do not want to do this, Mark," I said, taking a slow, calculated step forward.
"Richard is using you, and he will kill you the second you are no longer useful to him."
Mark shook his head violently, tears brimming in his panicked eyes.
"Shut up and put the kids in the back of the van!" Mark yelled, gesturing to a black vehicle parked outside.
I knew that if I put my children in that van, I would never see them alive again.
I needed a distraction, something to break the kid's intense focus.
I let out a sharp, piercing whistle that cut through the sound of the crying baby.
Inside the house, Titan heard the release command and abandoned Richard.
The massive dog bounded through the hallway and slammed into the door separating the kitchen and the garage.
The sudden, violent thud startled Mark, causing him to instinctively look away for a fraction of a second.
That was all the time I needed.
I lunged forward, closing the distance and grabbing the hot barrel of the shotgun.
I twisted the weapon upward just as Mark pulled the trigger out of pure reflex.
The blast tore a hole through the ceiling of the garage, raining drywall dust down on us.
I slammed my elbow into his jaw, dropping the teenager instantly to the concrete floor.
I kicked the shotgun away, shoved the kids into my truck, and hit the ignition.
The engine roared to life, and I smashed through the closed garage door, splintering wood everywhere.
We sped down the suburban street, leaving the shattered remnants of my life behind.
I drove frantically for twenty minutes, checking my rearview mirror constantly.
I told Tessa to reach into the diaper bag and hand me a fresh bottle for Miles to keep him quiet.
Tessa unzipped the bag and reached her small hand inside.
"Dad, what is this blinking red light?" she asked, pulling out a small, metallic square.
I slammed on the brakes, realizing with absolute dread what she was holding.
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It was a military-grade GPS tracker.
Chloe had planted it in the bag this morning, and they were already hunting us.
