“Little bastard,” he sneered.
That was it. I stepped out. “Don’t touch him.”
Dominic spun around, reaching for his gun. He was too slow. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “You’ll wake the baby.”
I squeezed. I crushed his windpipe—not enough to kill instantly, but enough to ensure he wouldn’t breathe without a tube ever again. He slumped to the floor. I took his gun and his phone.
I sent a text to the group chat from Dominic’s phone: Generator acting up. Send Evan.
Two minutes later, Evan came down. I neutralized him with a sleeper hold before he even saw me. I dragged them both into a supply closet.
I looked at the oxygen tanks. Highly flammable. I loosened a valve, letting gas hiss into the room. I unplugged the incubator—it had a battery backup—and loaded it onto a rolling cart.
