Bernard let out a sharp, guttural sound as the knife sank into his shoulder.
His gun clattered to the ground.
I didn’t hesitate.
I yanked the blade free and kicked his weapon across the floor, sending it skidding into the shadows.
He stumbled, clutching his wound, his arrogant smirk finally gone.
William, despite the blood seeping through his shirt, raised his gun again, his grip steady.
“You should’ve stayed down,” he muttered.
Bernard’s lips curled, his breathing ragged. “This… isn’t over.”
I stepped closer.
“No, Bernard. It’s just beginning.”
Bernard backed toward the hangar doors, his breath uneven.
He wasn’t smirking anymore.
For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
“You don’t get to walk away from this,” I said coldly.
Bernard’s gaze flicked toward the exit.
He was
