Chapter 12 - Defense of the Perimeter
They came in through the side utility door—three of them, moving in a tight stack, soaked from the rain.
Travis was in the rear, limping heavily. Viktor led the way, holding a heavy steel baton, followed by a wide-built heavyweight fighter named Marcus.
"Quiet," Viktor whispered in the dark hall. "Find her."
They didn't know that I was standing three feet away, pressed flat against the wall behind the laundry room door.
I waited until Marcus passed my position.
I struck instantly.
I drove my forearm into the back of Marcus’s neck, slamming his face into the doorframe. As he stumbled forward, stunned, I swept his leg, sending his heavy frame crashing into Viktor.
Both men tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
"What the hell?!" Viktor roared, swinging his iron baton blindly into the dark.
I stepped back into the shadows, completely silent.
"She's right there!" Travis screamed from the back, shining a bright flashlight down the hall.
The beam illuminated me for a fraction of a second. Viktor lunged forward with a lethal overhead strike with the steel baton.
I didn't try to block it. I stepped inside the arc of the swing, trapping his arm against my shoulder. I applied an arm-bar leverage technique, driving my weight downward.
CRACK.
Viktor dropped the baton with a blood-curdling scream as his elbow dislocated. I delivered a swift knee strike to his ribs, sending him unconscious onto the floor.
Marcus scrambled to his feet, pulling a heavy brass-knuckle dusters from his pocket. "You crazy bitch!" he yelled, swinging a wild hook.
I ducked beneath the blow, ducked beneath a second swing, and slammed my open palm against his jawline—a classic ear-slap strike designed to rupture the inner ear fluid.
Marcus lost all equilibrium instantly. He staggered sideways, his eyes rolling back into his head, before collapsing like a felled oak onto the rug.
It had taken less than forty-five seconds.
Two heavyweights were out cold on my floor.
I turned slowly toward the back doorway.
Travis stood there alone in the dark, holding his flashlight with two hands. His knees were shaking so hard the light beam bounced wildly across the ceiling.
"C-Claire..." he squeaked, his voice cracking like a frightened child's. "Please..."
I walked toward him, my footfalls silent on the wet floor.
"You brought fighters into my home, Travis," I said, my voice cold as winter ice. "You brought violence to the place where my daughter sleeps."
"I was angry! Grant made me do it!" Travis sobbed, dropping the flashlight. He fell to his hands and knees, weeping hysterically on the floorboards. "Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"
I stood over him, looking down at the man who had sneered at me on the lawn three days ago, threatening to hospitalize me in front of my child.
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"I'm not going to hurt you, Travis," I said softly. "The law is going to handle you."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my tactical radio, and spoke into the channel. "Control, this is Major Miller. Perimeter breached at residence. Three intruders contained. Send units for transport."
