Chapter 12 - Blood in the Ranks

Miller’s eyes darted frantically across the room. He realized the two corporals behind him had already dropped to their knees, hands interlocked behind their heads in total surrender.

"You set me up," Miller hissed, glaring at Hollis, then locking his venomous gaze onto Mia. "Carter’s punk brother squealed, didn't he? That worthless little coward!"

"My brother made a mistake," Mia said, taking a step forward. "The difference between him and you is that he chose to fix it. Stand down, Staff Sergeant."

Miller let out a feral roar. Instead of putting his hands up, he lunged sideways, grabbing a heavy steel torque wrench from the table and hurling it directly at Hollis, throwing the Gunny off balance. In a flash of desperate adrenaline, Miller drew his combat knife and sprinted straight toward Mia, aiming to use her as a hostage to force an escape through the side exit.

"Major, look out!" one of the NCIS agents yelled, his line of fire blocked by the storage racks.

Mia didn't flinch. She didn't retreat an inch.

As Miller lunged with the blade aimed at her throat, Mia pivoted cleanly on her rear foot, slipping inside his reach with flawless, mechanical precision. Her left hand clamped onto Miller’s wrist like an iron vise, twisting the joint violently until the bone cracked and the knife clattered uselessly onto the concrete floor. In the same fluid motion, her right palm drove upward into Miller’s jaw with the concussive force of an explosive breach.

Miller’s head snapped back. His eyes rolled into his skull as his knees gave out entirely. He hit the concrete face-first, groaning as Hollis pinned him to the floor with a massive combat boot pressed into the small of his back.

"Cuff him," Hollis ordered the agents, breathing hard. He looked up at Mia with a wide, feral grin. "Still got that right hook, Major."

"Muscle memory, Gunny," Mia said calmly, brushing dust off her sleeve.

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Dylan stepped into the bay from the side office, pale but standing tall, wearing clean utility fatigues. He looked down at Miller, who was now being dragged toward the door in heavy steel handcuffs.

"Carter..." Miller spat blood onto Dylan’s boot as he was dragged past. "You think you won? You think this is over? You have no idea who’s buying those crates!"