POV: Jane
Brian's hand finds the back of my neck and shoves.
Not gentle. Not careful. My spine slams into cold steel as he crowds me into the recessed frame of a utility door, his body becoming a wall between me and the corridor.
"Stay in the frame," he orders. "Don't step past my shoulder."
"Brian…"
"Stay."
Dwight is already gone.
He doesn't shoot. He doesn't aim. Two hundred and forty pounds of leather and muscle hits the nearest Viper like a freight train. The man's rifle clatters uselessly. Dwight grabs the barrel with one hand and the man's throat with the other.
Crunch.
It's not loud. It's wet. Intimate. The kind of sound that doesn't go into your ears, it goes straight down your spine.
"Dwight… his neck, you just…" My voice breaks.
"Don't look at the floor, corporate." He
