Chapter 8 - The Stand-Off
I kicked out defensively, catching Lena right in the stomach.
She stumbled backward, dropping the bloody bat onto the carpet.
I scrambled up the stairs, ignoring the burning pain in my legs.
Behind me, the kitchen was a warzone of breaking plates and smashing chairs.
Derek and the hitman were locked in a brutal struggle for the handgun.
I reached the top of the stairs and threw my shoulder against the barricaded door.
Derek had jammed a wooden chair under the handle from the inside before he was knocked out.
"Noah!" I yelled, pounding on the wood.
"Daddy's here!"
"Dad!" Noah's small, trembling voice called out from the other side.
"Stay back, buddy!" I yelled.
I backed up and kicked the door right next to the handle.
The wood splintered, and the chair inside snapped loudly.
I burst into the hallway and found my son huddled in the corner, clutching his bruised arm.
I scooped him up into my arms, tears streaming down my face.
"I got you," I whispered into his hair.
"I got you."
Suddenly, a deafening gunshot rang out from the kitchen downstairs.
The sound made my blood freeze.
The fighting downstairs stopped instantly.
Total silence fell over the house.
I held Noah tight against my chest, terrified to move.
Heavy footsteps began slowly ascending the wooden staircase.
I backed into the master bedroom, looking around frantically for a weapon.
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The shadow of a person appeared at the top of the stairs.
A figure stepped into the hallway, holding the gun pointed straight forward.
