The bullet tore through Adam's thigh an explosion of white-hot agony. His leg gave out instantly. He crashed to the wooden floor his charge brought to a brutal and abrupt end.
The heavy frying pan flew from his grasp skittering across the floorboards with a loud metallic screech. He was down. He was wounded. And he was completely at their mercy.
The assassin at the very front the one Adam had been targeting stepped forward. He walked calmly over to where Adam lay clutching his bleeding leg. He pointed his silenced pistol directly at Adam's forehead.
"A good attempt," the man said his voice a low emotionless monotone muffled by his mask. "For a child."
Adam lay on the floor the pain in his leg a throbbing all-consuming fire. He could feel the cold metal of the pistol's muzzle pressed against his skin.
