Chapter 23 - The Kitchen Brawl
The remaining two mercenaries advanced cautiously from the kitchen, using the kitchen island for heavy cover. They realized their night-vision goggles were useless against the dust and debris floating in the air, pulling them off and tossing them aside. They switched on high-lumen tactical flashlights mounted to their rifles, the blinding white beams cutting through the dark hallway.
Mateo was pinned behind the heavy oak dining table, reloading the shotgun by pure touch. Laura was crouched behind the shattered remains of a bookshelf.
"Flank them," the squad leader commanded his subordinate, motioning toward the side door that led to the patio.
The subordinate nodded, moving quietly across the kitchen tiles. But he didn't know the house. In his attempt to flank, he backed right up against the heavy wooden coat rack standing in the corner. The coat rack wobbled and crashed to the floor, a metal umbrella stand clanging loudly against the tiles.
The sudden noise gave away his exact position.
Mateo didn't use the shotgun. He needed a distraction. He grabbed a heavy ceramic fruit bowl from the floor and hurled it violently across the room toward the kitchen window. The bowl smashed against the shatter-resistant film with a massive, echoing crash.
Both mercenaries instinctively spun their flashlights toward the window, firing blindly into the darkness.
Laura seized the opening. She rolled out from behind the bookshelf, leveling her pistol. She fired three shots at the squad leader’s flashlight, shattering the bulb and plunging the kitchen back into darkness.
In the chaos, Mateo charged. He vaulted over the dining table, tackling the subordinate mercenary to the floor. The man’s rifle fired wildly into the ceiling as they grappled in the dark. The mercenary was younger, stronger, and heavily armored, pulling a combat knife from his chest rig and slashing violently at Mateo’s face.
Mateo dodged the blade, feeling the cold steel whistle past his ear. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it brutally until he heard a sickening pop. The knife dropped to the tiles. Mateo delivered a crushing elbow strike to the man’s temple, knocking him completely unconscious.
Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into Mateo’s ribs. The squad leader had recovered, kicking Mateo viciously across the kitchen floor.
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"You're dead, you cartel trash," the squad leader sneered, raising his automatic rifle, pointing it directly at Mateo’s chest.
Before he could pull the trigger, a dark figure lunged from the shadows behind him.
