Page 68 of The Executioner (Professionals 10)

Another hung back near the door with Brandon Adams himself, surveying the scene before him, knowing damn well we weren’t prepared for an invasion.

I needed to get to the kitchen to grab another weapon.

It was our best chance.

But a part of me wanted to stay, wanted to act as a human barrier between them and their horrific intentions and Shawn huddled in the pantry with no means of escape.

That was a weakness.

I’d had that drilled into me over and over.

Fear like that was weakness.

I needed to do what could bring about the best outcome.

I swear to God, I felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest, though, as I rushed to the side at the last possible second, making the guys pull to a stop, giving me a split second of an advantage. I used it to grab a knife in the drying rack then reaching into one of the lower cabinets for the cast iron frying pan Shawn had decided not to use to make anything since, she claimed, you had to clean it some specific way or people got pissy about it, and that she didn’t know how to clean it the right way.

So it didn’t get any soap on it, but it was about to get some blood, I thought to myself as I reached back and swung with much more force than was necessary to knock the man out. But when you were up against odds like this, you didn’t rein it in. You went as hard as you could.

Blood and teeth flew as one of the men fell, out cold, half hanging over the island.

His coworker skirted past him as one of the first guys rushed me again, getting a knife to the outside of his hip. It wouldn’t do much. It wouldn’t likely even slow him down much, but it felt good to inflict pain on these bastards.

Slowly but surely, I could feel the me that I’d carefully cultivated over the years after I left the military slipping away, getting replaced with the monster of a man I used to be.

My vision went tunnel as the blood song sang through my veins.

I couldn’t tell you who I hit or stabbed or sliced or when.

All I knew was that sticky-wet, warm, coppery-smelling blood sprayed across my face and neck as I kept barreling through the living room like it was a battlefield. And, just like a battlefield, curses and cries flooded my ears. Though, admittedly, I couldn’t tell you if those were actual curses and cries, or a little bit of PTSD rearing its ugly head at the exact wrong moment.

Everything was screened through the lens of that evil, twisted thing inside me that I worked so hard to keep caged.

That was, of course, until I heard her.

A high-pitched, awful scream that had the world snapping back into focus.

Around me was carnage.

Blood splattered the walls and furniture, the TV and the kitchen appliances. Maybe some of mine. I was too numb to know for sure. But a lot of it belonging to the others.

I saw four splayed men.

But that still left at least three others plus Adams himself.

And one of them had gotten their hands on Shawn while I’d been in my murderous rage.

“Fuck,” I hissed, wiping the sweat out of my eyes with my forearm, looking toward the sound.

And finding fucking Brandon Adams himself with his hand full of Shawn’s perfect hair, dragging her through the living room by it.

“Grab him,” I barked, hoping I wasn’t just saying it in my head. Things felt surreal at that moment.

But a split second later, Shawn reacted to the words, reaching upward and grabbing Adams’s hand, yanking as hard as she could, a motion that couldn’t knock him over, but did make him stumble, giving her just enough time to break free and scramble forward out of reach.

I tried to move toward her, but found my path blocked by a wall of a man with every intention of keeping me from helping her, getting her safe.

I couldn’t keep an eye on her as the fucker started swinging with his own knife. Which he was a fuckuva lot more adept at than I was happy with.

Pain exploded down my arm as the knife sliced a path downward.

I could feel the blood trickling even as a fist slammed into the side of my head, sending me flying to the side, crashing hard.

There were fighting sounds just beyond my vision as I pushed up onto all fours, looking for the gun and pan I’d lost in the fall.

Shawn holding her ground, I hoped.

But then there was a shriek and a thud that had my heart shooting up into my throat even as a boot caught me in the ribs, sending me flying face-first toward the ground again.

I just managed to look up in time to see someone grab Shawn from behind.

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