Chapter 3 - The Breach at the Estate
Before the final word left Thomas Vance’s mouth, the high glass windows of the grand dining room exploded inward in a cascade of lethal crystal shards.
Flashbang grenades bounced across the polished hardwood, detonating with deafening booms and blinding white light.
“Down!” Mason roared.
In a fraction of a second, despite the burning agony in his healing shoulder, Mason lunged across the table. His massive frame collided with Emily, throwing her behind the heavy mahogany sideboard just as heavy automatic gunfire tore through the air, shredding the velvet drapes and shattering the silver platters to dust.
Jack Mercer was already moving. He drew two customized pistols from beneath his coat, firing with terrifying, rhythmic precision through the cloud of smoke. Two mercenaries dressed in black tactical gear plummeted through the shattered window frames, dead before they hit the rug.
“Get her to the vault!” Jack shouted over the roar of gunfire, taking cover behind a thick marble column as he returned fire into the courtyard.
Thomas Vance didn't run toward the fight. Protected by two heavy-set guards who breached the side doors, Thomas backed out toward the terrace, a cruel smile on his face as he looked at Mason through the haze.
“Kill them all!” Thomas ordered his men. “Leave no one alive in this house!”
Inside the dining room, a third mercenary kicked through the splintered double doors, his assault rifle raised, training his sights directly on Mason’s exposed back as Mason shielded Emily on the floor.
Emily opened her eyes through the blinding smoke. She saw the red laser dot dancing across Mason’s leather jacket.
She didn't think about her mother’s unpaid medical bills. She didn't think about her cheap, blood-stained apron.
Emily grabbed a heavy, antique bronze candelabra from the floor beside her and hurled it with all her strength at the gunman’s face.
The heavy bronze struck the mercenary squarely across the bridge of his nose with a loud crack. The man stumbled backward, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling plaster.
That two-second distraction was all Mason Vale needed.
Mason spun around on his knees, drew a snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster, and squeezed the trigger twice. The shooter collapsed hard against the doorframe.
Mason turned to Emily, his dark eyes wide with shock and something deeper—something raw that he hadn't felt in a decade.
“You hit a tactical mercenary with a candlestick?” Mason rasped, his voice rough with smoke.
“He was going to shoot you!” Emily yelled back, her young face covered in soot, her body trembling violently but her eyes fiercely steady.
“Jack! Cover the hallway!” Mason commanded, grabbing Emily by the wrist with his strong left hand. He pulled her up, using his broad shoulders to shield her as bullets chewed through the wood paneling around them.
They sprinted down the private service corridor, away from the grand entrance where the main firefight was raging. Mason pressed his palm against a hidden steel scanner built into the library wall. The heavy bookshelf slid open with a deep hydraulic hiss, revealing a reinforced steel safe room built into the foundation of the estate.
Mason shoved Emily gently inside. “Stay here. Do not open this door for anyone except me or Jack.”
“Mason, wait!” Emily caught his sleeve. Her fingers were trembling, stained with soot and old blood. “He’s going to kill you out there!”
Mason looked down at her small hand clutching his sleeve. For the first time in three weeks, he reached up with his left hand and gently wrapped his fingers over hers.
“Three days ago, I was waiting to die in a wet bed,” Mason said softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute intensity. “You gave me back my life with a pair of rusty scissors, Emily. I’m not letting anyone take it away now.”
He stepped back and hit the internal lock. The heavy steel door slid shut, sealing Emily inside the soundproof bulletproof bunker.
Outside, the estate sounded like a warzone.
Mason turned back toward the smoke-filled corridor, drawing a second weapon from beneath his belt. His shoulder burned like liquid fire where the six stitches had been removed, but the weakness was gone.
He moved through his burning mansion not like a patient, but like the apex predator he had been born to be.
By the time he reached the grand courtyard, six of Thomas’s mercenaries lay motionless on the stone driveway. Jack stood over them, reloading his magazines with calm, methodical efficiency.
An armored black SUV was tearing down the long oak-lined driveway, its tires screeching against the wet gravel as it smashed through the front iron gates.
Inside the passenger seat, Thomas Vance looked back through the tinted rear window.
Mason walked slowly out onto the rain-slicked steps of his porch. The wind blew his dark hair across his face, his black shirt soaked in rain and blood. He raised his weapon, aiming directly at the retreating vehicle’s rear tire.
BANG.
The SUV’s rear left tire exploded in a shower of sparks, but the heavy armored vehicle managed to regain control, disappearing into the dark, rainy night toward the city harbor.
Jack walked up beside Mason, wiping a line of blood from his forehead. “He got away, Boss. But he lost half his crew.”
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Mason lowered his gun, his chest rising and falling heavily as the cold rain washed the gunpowder residue from his skin.
“He didn't get away, Jack,” Mason murmured, staring into the dark road where his foster father had fled. “He just ran to his grave.”
