Page 95 of Wild Frost

It was about that time when gunshots erupted. A stream of molten copper shattered glass. Bullets whizzed across the wheelhouse. One of them caught Nate in the throat. He clutched at the wound as crimson spurted.

Ethan’s eyes rounded in horror as his uncle fell to the deck.

"Get down!" I shouted.

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Glass rained down as the hail of bullets continued.

Jack attended to Nate and tried to stem the tide of blood, but it was too late. His carotid artery had been severed. He bled out on the deck in a matter of moments.

Tears flowed from Ethan's eyes.

Casey shrieked in horror.

I moved to the hatch that opened to the side deck. Bullets peppered the wheelhouse, popping and pinging off the steel.

I angled my pistol through the hatch and took aim.

Two thugs blasted at the boat with Mac 10s, taking cover behind dock boxes. Their barrels spit fire and death.

Bullets whizzed through the air.

I returned fire, my pistol pounding my palm, ringing my ears.

Smoke wafted.

The tangy scent of retribution drifted from the barrel.

The dock boxes offered a little concealment. Not much cover.

I sent enough copper downrange to give one of the goons a bad day. He fell back against the dock, writhing and moaning until he bled out.

His comrade took off and ran down the dock. He hopped into a black Dominator GT waiting in the parking lot.

With a glance inside the compartment, I said, “Is anyone else hit?”

Casey shook her head, her skin white with fear. Her hands trembled.

Ethan sobbed over his uncle.

JD had already called dispatch for backup. EMTs and paramedics were on the way. The distant sound of sirens warbled.

I stepped out of the wheelhouse and climbed the gunwale to the dock.

Curious neighbors poked their heads out with fearful eyes.

I advanced to the perp, kicked his weapon away, and checked vitals.

The punk was long gone.

He wore a baseball cap backwards. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes, and a black bandanna covered his face. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a black jacket, he matched the description of the assailants who’d gunned down the Christmas carolers.

I pulled the kid’s bandanna down to get a better look at his face. He was mid-20s with gang tattoos that extended above hiscollar. I snapped a photo and texted it to Isabella. She would be able to identify him in no time. No doubt he had a criminal record. We could learn his gang affiliations and figure out what crowd he ran with.

There was no doubt in my mind someone at Valterion had hired these thugs to take care of their problem. If Ethan was right, Valterion Capital was protected. But a public scandal could sink their plans and bring down everyone involved. They would stop at nothing to keep that information from getting out. They were willing to kill innocent people. They had proven that much. But I didn't realize just how far they were willing to go.

I was about to find out.