Free Web NovelChapter 232: Twelve Seconds
The third armed robber swept the room with a compact automatic weapon, the muzzle gliding left and right in a slow, practiced arc.
"NOBODY MOVES!"
The command ripped through the club like a blade.
The tallest of the three, the one carrying the automatic, strode forward immediately. His head turned in quick, efficient movements, assessing the room.
"Hands where I can see them! Hands UP!"
His weapon snapped toward a dark corner.
"You! Yeah, you in the corner, I see you. Hands UP or I put one in you right now!"
The room erupted, everybody was full of panic and regret as to why they came to this club, not wanting to get shot everyone acted quickly. People scrambled to comply, knocking over drinks and stumbling over chairs in their panic. Several screamed. Others froze before forcing their shaking hands into the air.
A man near the bar rose too quickly. One of the gunmen pivoted toward him instantly.
"SIT DOWN!"
The pistol tracked his chest.
"Sit DOWN. Do not test me."
The man collapsed back to the floor, hands raised so high they trembled.
Meanwhile, the second robber moved along the left side of the room, weapon jabbing toward anyone who hesitated.
"Phones on the floor! Wallets, jewelry, everything! Put it in front of you. NOW!"
He swept the handgun across a cluster of patrons.
"Move slow. Do NOT do anything stupid."
A woman a few booths away broke into sobs as she struggled to remove a necklace from around her neck. Beside her, a man fumbled desperately with the clasp of an expensive watch, his hands too unsteady to work it.
The robber saw the delay.
"I said NOW!"
He slammed the butt of his pistol into the table.
The crack of metal against glass echoed through the club. Every person in the room flinched. Fear rippled through the crowd like a physical force.
The third robber took position near the entrance. Shorter, broader, He said almost nothing but his gun swept methodically across the room while his eyes never stopped moving.
He was the lookout.
Stan recognized the role immediately.
The robber was definitely professional; From the shadows of the booth, he tracked all three without moving a muscle.
’Left wall. Handgun. Right-handed. Roughly six meters.
Center floor. Collecting valuables. Right-handed. About eight meters.
Entrance. Automatic weapon. Side profile exposed. Eleven meters.’
His grip tightened around the bottles. The wine bottle rested in his right hand; heavy and long-necked. Enough mass to hit hard, even if it shattered.
The whiskey bottle sat in his left; shorter, denser. A better throw, a better impact.
His breathing remained slow and controlled. He wasn’t looking for courage. He was looking for the perfect timing.
One perfect moment, one mistake, one perfect opening with all three distracted. An opening with all three looking somewhere else was what he needed.
Around him, terrified patrons prayed, cried, and obeyed. Stan simply waited, watching, calculating, ready.
The opportunity came thirty seconds later. The tall robber barked an order toward the bar. The second turned to relay it.
At the entrance, the lookout glanced back toward the door. Three seconds.
That was all Stan needed. He exploded from the booth.
In one fluid motion, he rose and hurled the wine bottle.
The glass left his hand with a low, vicious whistle, cutting through the air faster than anyone in the room could properly track.
BANG!
CRACK!
The bottle smashed into the first robber’s gun hand.
Glass erupted in a spray of wine and glittering shards. The man’s handgun spun away as he screamed, clutching his ruined hand to his chest. Fingers bent at unnatural angles. Blood seeped between them.
For a fraction of a second, he simply stared at the injury, screaming in pain, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Stan was already moving with the whiskey bottle left his other hand.
SWOOSH!
BANG!
It struck the second robber squarely across the wrist. The dense glass base hit with bone-jarring force.
CRASH!
The gun flew from his grip and skidded across the floor.
The man howled in pain and spun toward the attack, his free hand diving beneath his jacket.
There was no third bottle. So Stan improvised. As the lookout began turning toward the commotion, Stan snatched an empty wine glass from a nearby table and flicked it across the room.
The glass spun end over end. It struck the man hard across the side of the throat. Not enough to incapacitate him permanently. But more than enough to stop him.
The lookout folded instantly, choking as both hands flew to his neck. His automatic weapon clattered onto the floor and slid across the entrance.
Three seconds, everything was happening fast that the room still hadn’t caught up.
Stan was already across it. The first robber was struggling to recover when Stan reached him.
A sharp strike crashed into the man’s elbow. His legs buckled.
Stan seized his collar, drove him face-first into the floor, and left him there groaning.
The second robber finally produced what he’d been reaching for, a fixed-blade knife.
His eyes were wide with panic. "What the hell, who are,"
SWOOSH!
The blade slashed toward Stan.
Wild and desperate.
But Stan casually stepped inside the attack before it could gain momentum.
He caught the man’s wrist and twisted it... The knife dropped from suddenly numb fingers. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
A sharp cry escaped the robber as his arm was forced beyond its natural range.
He collapsed to the floor moments later, clutching the injured limb.
Stan didn’t spare him another glance. The lookout was already trying to rise.
One hand remained pressed against his throat while the other stretched toward the fallen automatic weapon.
Stan crossed the distance in four strides. His foot came down on the firearm. The weapon stopped dead beneath his boot.
"Don’t." ƒreewebɳovel.com
The word wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The robber froze.
For a long moment, he stared up at Stan.
Whatever he saw in his expression convinced him not to move again.
Stan crouched, secured the man’s arms behind his back, then rose slowly to his feet.
Silence settled over the club, everyone was in shock.
The three men were down, their weapons out of reach.
Twelve seconds from beginning to end. No one spoke, there were too shocked to speak...
Dozens of patrons stared from behind overturned tables and booths. Some looked terrified, others looked stunned.
A few simply seemed unable to process what they had witnessed.
The fear that had dominated the room only moments earlier was beginning to fracture, giving way to something else.
Disbelief, relief and awe.
At the center of it all stood Stan, breathing steadily amid the wreckage, while an entire room struggled to understand what had just happened.
