Chapter 13 - The Echo of a Mother’s Wrath
Tyler froze.
The silence inside the study became so dense you could hear the rain tapping like fingernails against the glass.
The second man
the enforcer from the docks
began to slide his hand toward his revolver.
“Don’t move an inch
Curtis,” Frank’s voice echoed from the hall.
The old driver stepped into the light behind Curtis
the snub-nosed .38 pressed firmly behind the man’s left ear.
“Take two fingers
lift the iron out of your holster
and drop it on the floor.
If you blink too hard
I’ll empty five rounds into your spinal column.”
Curtis swallowed hard
his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Slowly
deliberately
he lifted his revolver by the hammer and let it drop onto the rug with a dull thud.
Tyler’s eyes remained locked on Megan
his breathing turning shallow and fast.
“Meggie,” he said
his voice dropping into a desperate
pleading whine that did nothing to mask the venom underneath.
“Come on
baby.
You wouldn’t shoot me.
We had good times in Macon.
Remember the lake?
Remember what I bought you for Christmas?”
“You broke three of my ribs on Christmas
Tyler,” Megan answered
taking a slow
measured step forward.
The barrel of the Remington never wavered
held rock-steady against her shoulder.
“You took the sixty dollars I hid in the medicine cabinet for Noah’s formula and spent it on meth in an alley behind the bowling alley.”
“I had a bad week!” Tyler shouted
his hands trembling as they hovered near his waist.
“I was stressed!
You think it was easy keeping us fed?”
“I kept us fed,” she hissed
her voice rising with righteous
unbridled fury.
“I worked fourteen hours a day scrubbing grease off diner grills while you slept until four in the afternoon.
And then you tried to sell Noah’s birth certificate to Raymond Mason’s fixers for five thousand dollars.”
Tyler’s eyes widened in panic.
“Raymond lied to you!
He set me up!”
“Raymond didn't set you up
Tyler,” I interjected
lifting the Sig Sauer from beneath my blanket
resting the muzzle on the armrest
aimed directly at Tyler’s right kneecap.
“Raymond gave you thirty thousand dollars in marked bills this morning.
Bills that were traced through the Fulton County Narcotics Task Force.
You didn't come here as a private contractor.
You came here as a dead man walking into an ambush.”
Tyler looked between the two barrels aimed at his body.
His face turned the color of damp chalk.
“You can’t shoot me,” he stammered
backing up a single inch until Megan stepped forward to close the gap.
“I know the law!
You’re rich people!
You have lawyers!
You shoot me
it’s murder!”
Megan’s lips parted into a cold
merciless smile that sent a shiver down Tyler’s spine.
“This is private property
Tyler,” Megan said.
“You broke through reinforced glass with a crowbar.
You brought an unregistered firearm into a private residence.
And in the state of Georgia
under the Castle Doctrine
a mother has every right to defend the home where her child sleeps.”
Tyler’s hand twitched toward his pocket.
It was an instinctive
foolish gamble of a cornered animal.
Megan did not hesitate.
She did not scream.
She simply squeezed the forward trigger.
The roar of the twelve-gauge was deafening in the enclosed room.
The blast tore through the floorboards three inches in front of Tyler’s left boot
shredding the antique wood into a storm of splinters and lead shot.
The concussion wave slammed Tyler backward against the heavy mahogany desk.
He dropped to his knees
his ears ringing
screaming in pure
unfiltered agony as wood fragments sliced into his shins.
His Glock flew from his fingers
sliding across the rug until it hit the wheel of my chair.
Megan racked the slide with a clean
vicious clack
ejecting the steaming plastic shell casing onto the floor.
She pressed the hot metal barrel directly beneath Tyler’s chin
forcing his head back against the edge of the walnut desk.
“Give me one reason
Tyler,” she whispered
May you like
her eyes burning into his terrified face.
“Give me one single reason why I shouldn't finish this right now.”
