Chapter 3 - The Breach at the Threshold
Derek didn't ask questions. The moment the call dropped, he slammed the gas pedal of his dark pickup truck, weaving through suburban neighborhood streets with desperate precision.
Less than three minutes later, Derek’s truck screeched to a halt, tires smoking against the curb right outside the suburban home. Derek was six-foot-two with an athletic, muscular build, short brown hair, and sharp, intense hazel eyes. Dressed in a dark canvas jacket and jeans, he exited the vehicle in a single motion, sprinting up the manicured front lawn toward the porch.
The front door was already unlatched and standing partially open.
As Derek reached the top porch step, the heartbreaking sound of four-year-old Noah crying hysterically burst through the gap in the doorway.
“Get back in that room!” Travis’s aggressive voice echoed from the living room, followed by the terrifying metallic clang of the baseball bat striking a wooden side table.
Derek didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He kicked the front door open, the heavy wood slamming against the interior wall as he stepped directly into the entryway.
May you like
His posture was completely poised, feet planted, jaw locked in absolute tactical focus.
“Step away from Noah,” Derek commanded, his voice cold, heavy, and carrying the lethal gravity of a trained martial artist who had spent years mastering physical control under pressure.
