Chapter 8 - The Kitchen Knife
The bullet tore right through Renzo's right shoulder.
He screamed in agony, dropping the bloody knife and the fake grenade.
The metal dummy clattered harmlessly against the stone floor.
Renzo stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding arm in shock.
Vincent didn't waste a single second.
He lunged upward, grabbed the discarded combat knife, and drove it into Renzo's chest.
Renzo gasped, his eyes going wide before he collapsed lifelessly to the floor.
My ears were ringing violently from the gunshot.
Mia was shrieking behind me, covering her ears with her tiny hands.
Vincent pulled the knife out and wiped it cleanly on Renzo's jacket.
"Good eye, Clara," Vincent praised, his breathing heavy but steady.
"Now we have to leave before the rest of the Russians investigate that gunshot."
We ran out of the armory and sprinted down the long hallway toward the underground garage.
Vincent keyed his access code into the reinforced steel doors.
The heavy doors parted, revealing his fleet of luxury armored vehicles.
We rushed toward the black bulletproof Mercedes SUV parked near the exit ramp.
Vincent reached for the door handle, but I abruptly grabbed his wrist.
I smelled the faint, sweet chemical scent of marzipan lingering in the air.
My brother used to work in a demolition crew, and he had warned me about that specific smell.
"Don't open it," I yelled, pulling him back.
I dropped to my knees and shined the flashlight under the chassis of the vehicle.
Three blocks of C4 plastic explosive were wired directly to the ignition starter.
May you like
David had known exactly which car Vincent would try to take.
We were trapped underground, and the sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway behind us.
