Chapter 9 - The Slaughterhouse
Mara hit the reinforced steel basement doors with the heavy sledgehammer.
CLANG!
The heavy lock mechanism snapped like a dry twig under the massive force of her strike. She kicked the doors open and charged up the concrete stairs into the smoke-filled processing floor.
Men were running in every direction, blind, coughing, tears streaming down their faces as the ammonia gas tore through their throats.
Mara moved through the chaos like a ghost of iron and steel.
When a shooter stumbled into her path, she caught him by the lapels, used his momentum to spin him around, and launched him straight into a stainless-steel hanging rail.
When two gunmen tried to raise their pistols near the office stairs, she grabbed a heavy hundred-pound side of beef suspended from an overhead motorized hook and shoved it hard down the track.
The swinging frozen carcass hit both men like a wrecking ball, sweeping them off their feet and smashing them into the concrete wall.
Adrian followed closely behind her, his suppressed pistol barking with surgical precision, clearing the upper office gantries.
They reached the heavy executive office door at the back of the facility.
Mara didn't even use the hammer. She took three running steps forward, threw her full physical weight against the wood, and tore the heavy door right off its iron hinges.
The door crashed inward onto the floor.
Dominic Moretti was cowering behind his heavy mahogany desk, holding a chrome revolver with both trembling hands.
“Get away from me!” Dominic shrieked, pointing the gun at Mara’s broad chest. “You fat beast! Get back!”
Mara didn't stop walking.
Dominic squeezed the trigger.
CLICK!
The firing pin came down on an empty chamber—Adrian’s perimeter sniper had shot the magazine straight out of Dominic’s hand through the window three seconds earlier.
Mara reached the desk, grabbed the heavy mahogany edge with both hands, and flipped the five-hundred-pound desk entirely upside down, burying Dominic beneath a shower of papers, glass, and heavy wood.
She stepped over the ruined furniture, reached down into the debris, caught Dominic by his velvet collar, and hauled his shaking body up until his eyes were level with hers.
“You called me a fat beast,” Mara whispered, her breath smelling of salt and gun smoke.
Dominic sobbed, terror completely breaking his mind. “Please... please don't kill me!”
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Mara turned her head, looking at Adrian, who stepped into the ruined office, his gun lowered.
“He’s yours, Adrian,” Mara said, dropping Dominic onto the floor like a sack of garbage. “I’m done cooking.”
