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Assault
Caitlyn’s anguished cry stung through her split lip, but she couldn’t have suppressed it if she’d tried. The entire scene before her unfolded like some unspeakable nightmare as Richards’ ‘boss’ unholstered his sidearm and fired it directly into the thigh of one of the men standing in the cell with him.
Her eyes squeezed shut, her tears leaving icy trails down her cheeks, but even the ring of her cry off the stone walls couldn’t drown out the sound of the wounded man’s body striking the cell floor or his burbling groan of misery and pain.
“Dr. Maddox, you’re trying my patience,” Mitchell Jantzi warned.
‘Patience’!? Her eyes flew open wide, her terror reflected there. For a second they lingered on Jantzi standing above her, then flicked to the downed man, blood spurting over his fingers clutching the wound and running in a growing pool of red varnish across the hard stone floor. The others in the cell with her stood rooted to their spots, vigilant and wary.
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