Chapter 2 - The Ambush
The front doors of the garage exploded inward, splintering wood and shattered glass raining across the concrete floor.
Six men in tactical gear poured into the bay, assault rifles raised.
Marcus was already moving. He didn't reach for a gun—he didn't keep them anymore. He reached for his tools. He grabbed a heavy acetylene torch from the welding cart, twisted the valve, and struck the igniter. A massive, roaring blue flame erupted.
"Spread out! Find him!" the lead mercenary barked.
Marcus ducked behind the hydraulic lift. As the first gunman rounded the corner, Marcus swung the lit torch, slicing the flame across the man's tactical vest. The mercenary screamed, dropping his rifle as the synthetic material melted.
Marcus dropped the torch, grabbed the fallen rifle, and rolled under the chassis of a lifted Chevy Silverado.
Gunfire erupted, tearing through the metal cabinets and shattering the windshields of the cars in the bay. Marcus fired back, aiming low. He took out the kneecaps of two more men, their agonizing screams echoing through the cavernous shop.
But there were too many. A spray of bullets shredded the hydraulic line of the lift above him. Thick, hydraulic fluid poured down, and the two-ton Chevy began to slowly crush downward.
Marcus scrambled out, but a heavy boot slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing into the tool chest.
A massive man with a scarred face aimed a Glock directly at Marcus's head. "Vance sends his regards."
Before the man could pull the trigger, the roar of a V8 engine shattered the night. A battered, matte-black Dodge Charger smashed through the side wall of the garage, throwing bricks and drywall everywhere. The car slammed into the gunman, throwing him thirty feet across the room.
The passenger door of the Charger swung open.
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"Get in!" a female voice screamed.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He dove into the car, and the tires screamed in protest as the Charger reversed out of the rubble, tearing out into the Nevada desert night.
