Chapter Seven – Red Asphalt
Cringing, Ethan waited for a slug or buckshot load to blow his head clean off.
“Drop yer bloody guns this instant!”
Relaxing his shoulders, Ethan let the .303 tumble off and clatter on floor. He plucked the revolver from his belt by the top strap and released it too. It thudded to the floor.
“Yer knife, too.” Unbuckling the sheath, he set the stowed knife on the table next to Jane’s quivering leg.
“Slowly turn.”
Complying, he flinched and almost wet his trousers. The young cop from the Bloody Emu, dressed in street clothes, trained a Steyre—a fully automatic bullpup military assault rifle—on him.
“Mate,” Ethan said, “I can explain. I found her, ya see. This is old place is a bikie hideout.
The off duty cop grinned, broadcasting each bone white tooth, “Is
