Chapter 8 - THE CLIFFHANGER
“You won’t do it, Grant,” I said, keeping the barrel pointed at his chest. “You want the diamonds. You burn the diner, you burn the stones.”
“I don’t care about the stones anymore!” Mercer screamed, the facade of the smooth, corrupt lawman completely shattered. “The Costas are going to kill me! The FBI is going to kill me! I need leverage, and I need it now.”
He took a step into the kitchen.
“I’m leaving this town,” Mercer said, his eyes locking onto Toby. “And the boy is coming with me. He’s my insurance policy.”
“Over my dead body,” I snarled.
“That’s the plan, Kaylee.”
Mercer raised his pistol.
I prepared to pull the trigger on my last shell, knowing it wouldn’t stop him from shooting back. I was going to die, but I was going to take him with me.
Before either of us could fire, Dominic moved.
He didn’t shoot Mercer. He didn’t tackle him.
Dominic simply picked up the canvas bag of diamonds from the counter and hurled it directly through the shattered front window, out into the muddy parking lot.
“No!” Mercer screamed.
Outside, the Costa hitmen broke cover, scrambling into the mud like wild dogs, fighting each other for the spilled diamonds.
The distraction lasted one second. It was all Dominic needed.
Dominic stepped forward, grabbed the barrel of Mercer’s pistol, and twisted it upward with bone-snapping force.
Mercer screamed as his wrist broke. The gun fired into the ceiling.
Dominic kicked Mercer’s knee, collapsing the sheriff to the floor, and pressed his own weapon to Mercer’s forehead.
“You touch the boy,” Dominic whispered, his voice like grinding stones, “I take your eyes.”
Mercer whimpered, holding his broken wrist.
The diner was secure. But the flashing lights outside grew blinding.
It wasn’t the Costas anymore.
Five black, armored helicopters descended from the stormy sky, their searchlights cutting through the rain. A dozen black SUVs with federal plates smashed into the parking lot, pinning the Costa vehicles in place.
Dominic’s cavalry had arrived.
Heedless of the chaos outside, Mercer looked up at me from the floor. He laughed, a wet, pathetic sound.
“You think you won, Kaylee?” Mercer spat blood onto the linoleum. “The bank still owns this land. You missed the mortgage payment. I forged the foreclosure paperwork yesterday. The deed transfers to the county at sunrise. You’re still losing your diner.”
I looked at the clock on the wall.
It was 6:00 AM.
May you like
The sun was breaking over the Pennsylvania hills, casting a pale gray light through the shattered windows.
“Sign the quitclaim deed on the counter, Kaylee,” Mercer wheezed. “Sign it, and I’ll tell you where Dean’s body is buried.”
