Marcus pressed his bare back against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. He was completely out of options. His private guards were bleeding on the carpet. His hit squad had abandoned him.
Desperation took over.
Marcus glanced at the glass coffee table. His right arm was strapped tightly to his chest in a thick white medical sling. He couldn't use it.
He lunged forward, grabbing a heavy, empty crystal liquor bottle with his left hand.
With a frantic, terrified scream, Marcus swung the bottle directly at Luke's head.
Luke didn't even blink.
He shifted his weight slightly to the right. The heavy crystal breezed past his ear, missing by inches.
Before Marcus could pull his arm back, Luke's hand shot out. His fingers clamped around Marcus's left wrist like a steel trap.
Luke
