"When I move," I whispered intensely, "you take Maya and you run. Do not look back."
Declan nodded, his jaw clenched tight.
I took a deep breath of the smoky air, tightened my grip on the skillet, and prepared to step out of cover.
The heat inside the diner was becoming unbearable.
Thick, toxic black smoke rolled across the ceiling, banking downward like a dark storm cloud.
Through the haze, I could see Marcus's silhouette moving methodically down the center aisle, clearing booth by booth.
He held his pistol with the relaxed, practiced grip of a man who had done this before.
"You can't hide, Thomas," Marcus called out, his voice smooth and devoid of panic. "The roof is going to come down in about three minutes. The smart play is to stand up and take the bullet. It's faster than the fire."
I crouched behind the heavy oak counter, my lungs burning with every shallow breath.
Declan was positioned three feet away from me, holding Maya by the arm, his body coiled tight like a spring.
I locked eyes with Declan and held up three fingers.
I lowered one.
Two.
One.
I stood up from behind the counter and hurled the heavy cast-iron skillet with every ounce of strength I had left in my right arm.
It flew through the smoke, spinning like a deadly black disc.
Marcus caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and raised his weapon, firing blindly.
The bullet struck the edge of the skillet, sparking brilliantly in the dark, and deflected the pan downward.
The heavy iron slammed brutally into Marcus's shin.
He cried out in pain, his knee buckling as he stumbled sideways into a table.
"Go!" I roared at Declan.
Declan shoved Maya toward the shattered front door.
She scrambled over the broken glass and burst out into the freezing rain.
Declan was right behind her, but he stopped at the threshold.
He looked back at me, his face torn between survival and the sudden realization that I was staying behind to cover their escape.
"Get out of here!" I yelled, vaulting over the counter.
Marcus recovered his balance and raised his pistol toward the doorway, taking aim at Declan's back.
I didn't have a weapon.
I didn't have time to think.
I lunged forward, tackling Marcus around the waist just as his finger squeezed the trigger.
The shot went wide, shattering the glass of the neon 'OPEN' sign above the door.
We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, sliding across the wet, muddy linoleum.
Marcus was younger than me by five years, and he didn't have a bad knee.
He rolled violently, driving his elbow into my ribs and knocking the wind out of my lungs.
I gasped for air, tasting ash and blood.
He scrambled to his knees, raising the pistol to point directly at my face.
"You always were a stubborn bastard, Thomas," Marcus hissed, his eyes wide with adrenaline and rage.
Before he could fire, a heavy steel tire iron swung out of the smoke and slammed into Marcus's wrist.
The bone snapped with a sickening crunch.
Marcus screamed, dropping the gun as it skittered across the floor into the flames.
I looked up.
Declan stood over us, breathing heavily, the tire iron gripped tightly in his hands.
He hadn't run.
He had come back.
Marcus clutched his broken wrist, his face pale with agony.
Declan stepped forward, raising the heavy metal bar above his head.
"You framed my father," Declan snarled, his voice trembling with twenty years of suppressed grief. "You let me hate this man. You let me hate my own life."
Marcus backed up against the base of the counter, coughing violently as the smoke thickened around us.
"Your father was a pig, Declan," Marcus spat, his facade completely broken. "He took the fall because he was greedy. I just took the money he was too stupid to hide."
Declan roared in anger and swung the tire iron down.
I grabbed his arm, stopping the metal an inch from Marcus's skull.
"No," I said, my voice hoarse from the smoke. "If you kill him, you're exactly what he wants you to be. He dies, and you go back to prison for murder."
Declan shook with rage, his eyes locked on Marcus.
"He doesn't deserve to live," Declan whispered.
"He deserves to rot," I corrected, pulling Declan's arm back. "Let the state handle him."
A massive section of the ceiling suddenly gave way, raining burning debris onto the floor between us.
The structural integrity of the diner was failing.
"We have to move," I yelled over the roar of the fire.
I grabbed Marcus by the collar of his uniform and dragged him roughly across the floor toward the front door.
He groaned in pain but didn't resist.