Two more emerged — military-trained wolves by their stance. Marcellus and I pressed back-to-back, breathing in sync.
“Seven o’clock,” he muttered.
I caught a glint to my left. “Weapon!”
We dove behind a container as shots rang out, bullets sparking off metal. The sharp cracks echoed across the dark water. I checked my ammo.
“How many rounds?” Marcellus asked.
“Thirteen. One in the Chamber.” I peeked. “They’re pinning us.”
More gunfire — closer. They were flanking. A shadow darted left.
“We split,” I said. “Draw their aim.”
Marcellus grabbed my arm. “A suicide?”
“Trust me.” I met his eyes. “My father didn’t spend a fortune training me to cower.”
Before he could argue, I rolled toward the next crate. Bullets struck the ground behind me. I came up firing, forcing one gunman into cover.
Then— A shotgun racked directly behind my head.
“Stay right there,” a strange voice ordered.
