Chapter 8 - The Standoff
The backup lights cast a sickly yellow glow over the airstrip.
Marcus stood at the top of the aircraft stairs, his arm tightly wrapped around Emma’s neck.
The barrel of his pistol was pressed firmly against her temple.
"Drop the gun, Mercer!" Marcus shouted, his professional demeanor entirely gone.
"I will put a bullet in her brain, I swear to God!"
I stopped walking and slowly lowered my weapon to my side.
Blake stepped out of the cabin, clutching the briefcase tightly to his chest.
He looked down at me and laughed, a cruel, mocking sound.
"You really are a stubborn old man," Blake sneered.
"You should have just given me the orchard when I asked."
"You wouldn't know what to do with that land," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
"I know how to sell it to the highest bidder," Blake shot back.
"Now kick your weapon away."
I hesitated, calculating the distance and the angles.
"Do it, Dad!" Emma cried out, her eyes wide with terror.
I slowly crouched down and slid my pistol across the wet concrete.
It skittered out of reach, stopping near the landing gear of the jet.
"Good," Blake smiled, walking down the stairs to face me.
"Now, here is how this is going to end."
"Marcus and I are going to get on this plane."
"We will leave Emma here with you."
"And when the cartel arrives to investigate that fire you started, they will find both of you."
He stepped closer, his arrogant face inches from mine.
"You lose, Mercer."
"You lose your land, you lose your money, and you lose your life."
I stared directly into his smug eyes.
"You made one massive miscalculation, Blake," I said softly.
"Oh really?" he scoffed.
"And what is that?"
"You assumed my daughter is as weak as you are," I replied.
Instantly, Emma drove her elbow backward with brutal force, striking Marcus squarely in the ribs.
The lawyer gasped in pain, his grip loosening just enough.
Emma grabbed his wrist, twisted the gun away from her head, and bit down hard on his forearm.
Marcus screamed and dropped the weapon.
Emma shoved him violently down the metal stairs.
He tumbled head over heels, crashing onto the tarmac with a sickening thud.
Blake spun around in shock.
Before he could react, I lunged forward and delivered a devastating uppercut to his jaw.
His head snapped back, and he collapsed onto the concrete, dropping the briefcase.
I picked up my pistol and aimed it directly at Blake’s chest as he groaned on the ground.
Emma hurried down the stairs, scooped up the briefcase, and stood beside me.
"It's over, Blake," Emma said, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, the screech of tires echoed across the tarmac.
A black limousine smashed through the security gates and sped directly toward us.
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The doors flew open, and Richard Vale stepped out, holding a pump-action shotgun.
"Nobody is going anywhere!" Richard roared, pumping a shell into the chamber.
