Sam’s next blow went into the side of the man’s neck, an inch beneath the ear.

Whatever he hit—something thick and ropy, a cord of muscle tying into the base of the skull—it worked. Pierce’s hands didn’t just loosen on the gun; they let go. The man’s breath rushed out and he stumbled back and landed on his ass, one shoulder against the shelves beside him.

Sam spun toward him, stepping back to get even more distance from the guy. As he did, he got his left hand around the gun, then grabbed it properly with his right. His finger settled in place on the trigger.

Pierce was sitting there, eyes shut in pain, blood streaming from his broken nose. He was conscious but dazed, like a drunk trying to figure out where he was.

He’s not down for long. Do it.

Sam raised the pistol, locked his arm straight, lined up the sights on Pierce’s face from ten feet away.

He realized he could hear himself breathing—Dani’s screams had gone silent.

Sam turned and looked at her.

She was watching him, her eyes bloodshot and wet. Then she looked at Lauren’s body, and finally at Pierce.

She returned her gaze to Sam and nodded.

Sam looked down the sights again, took a deep breath—

—and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

He tilted the gun and stared at it.

There was a shell casing wedged in the little slot on the side—the casing that should have come out after the last shot.

Sam pulled the weapon closer to himself, careful of where he pointed it, and studied the problem.

He had never held a gun before. He had seen plenty of them in movies, and he knew this was the type where you pulled back the slide on top to get it ready—at least that was what characters did on-screen, normally. But how did you fix a jammed gun? Had he ever seen that happen in a movie?

Then Pierce’s foot slid hard on the concrete, and Sam flinched and looked.

The man’s eyes were open and staring up at him, still dazed but at least focusing—and angry. The guy made a weak grab for the nearest shelf, missed it, tried again and got a grip on it.

Coming around. Fast.

Sam turned to Dani, saw her chest rising and falling, the fear coming right back.

He gave the gun one last good look. Maybe he could fix the jam by just pulling on the wedged casing. He rotated the weapon, got a hold of the little brass cylinder with his left fingertips, and pulled.

The casing didn’t budge.

Pierce gripped the shelf and tried to pull himself up. He got six inches off the ground and then fell back, blinking, shaking his head.