Chapter 9 - War in the Shadows
“DOWN!” Damian yelled.
Damian tackled Emma to the floor as Arthur pulled the trigger!
BANG!
The shot smashed into a crystal chandelier above, sending glass raining down onto the panicking guests. Screams erupted as Chicago’s elite scrambled for the exits, knocking over tables and chairs in a desperate bid to escape.
Arthur fired two more wild shots before his bodyguards dragged him toward the private service elevators behind the stage.
“Marcus! Secure the exits! Don't let Vance leave the building!” Damian ordered into his comms, pulling Emma up from the marble floor.
“I’m coming with you!” Emma insisted, tearing off the bottom hem of her silk dress to free her legs.
Damian looked at her, saw the unyielding determination in her eyes, and nodded once. He reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled a compact 9mm pistol from his holster, and racked the slide before handing it to her.
“Safety is off,” Damian said grimly. “Aim for the chest.”
They sprinted through the service doors behind the stage, entering the dark, maze-like back hallways of the Blackwood Hotel.
Gunfire echoed ahead. Damian’s loyal guards were already engaging Arthur’s remaining mercenaries in the concrete stairwells.
Damian moved like a shadow, taking the lead, firing precise shots that took down two shooters attempting to flank them near the kitchen loading dock. Emma stayed right at his back, keeping her weapon raised, her heart hammering but her hands steady.
They burst out into the subterranean parking garage beneath the hotel.
Tires screeched in the dim fluorescent light. A black armored sedan was speeding toward the exit gate! Inside the rear passenger seat, Arthur Vance was frantically screaming at his driver to hurry.
“He’s escaping!” Emma yelled.
Damian raised his heavy pistol, took a half-second breath, and fired three heavy armor-piercing rounds directly into the front left tire of the speeding car!
POP! POP! POP!
The tire exploded! The sedan lost control, spinning wildly across the oil-slicked concrete floor before slamming violently into a concrete support pillar!
Steam poured from the crushed hood.
Damian walked slowly toward the wreckage, his gun raised, Emma right beside him.
The driver was slumped unconscious over the deployed airbag. The rear door kicked open weakly, and Arthur Vance crawled out onto the concrete, coughing blood, his leg bent at an unnatural angle.
He reached for his dropped revolver on the floor, but Damian stepped on his wrist with a sickening CRACK.
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Arthur screamed in pain, collapsing onto his back.
“It’s over, Arthur,” Damian said, his voice cold as arctic ice, pointing his weapon directly between Arthur’s eyes.
