Chapter 4 - Breach at Hawthorne Ridge
“Clear the stairs!” a harsh, gravelly voice echoed up through the open stairwell.
Lucian’s eyes darkened to absolute slate. He didn't hesitate. With one fluid, protective motion, he stepped back, pulled Kate behind his broad frame, and shielded the infant against his chest with his arm, backing toward the deep shadows of the master bedroom.
“Who is that?” Kate hissed, terror spiking through her voice as she grabbed the fabric of Lucian’s shirt. “How did they get past the gates?”
“They didn't get past them. They bypassed them,” Lucian muttered, his mind racing through tactical scenarios with lethal precision. He had left his primary security detail in the city when he drove north alone to handle what he foolishly believed was a private domestic matter. He was unarmed, isolated, and holding a three-pound newborn.
Footsteps pounded heavily up the wooden stairs—not one pair, but at least four.
“Avery!” a voice shouted from the landing outside the master suite. “We know you’re up there! Don't make this messy!”
Lucian eased Kate backward into the bedroom, pushing her gently toward the far corner near the heavy mahogany armoire. “Stay behind the furniture. Do not make a sound.”
“Lucian, what are you—?”
“Trust me,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a low, absolute register that brooked no argument.
He stepped back out into the doorway just as four men in tactical black gear spilled onto the second-floor landing. They weren't local police, and they weren't low-level thugs; they wore high-end ceramic plate carriers, communication rigs over their ears, and carried suppressed short-barreled rifles.
Vance’s men.
Marcus Vance—a rival energy tycoon who had spent the last year trying to muscle Lucian out of government municipal contracts—had finally decided to test the rumor that Lucian Avery was slipping.
The lead operative—a scarred brute with cold, dead eyes—stopped short when he saw Lucian standing in the doorway of the master suite, unarmed, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a blue blanket.
A cruel, humorless smirk spread across the operative’s face.
“Well, well, look at the great Lucian Avery,” the operative mocked, raising his rifle slightly. “Left the corporate jet at home, left the armed detail in the city, and drove out into the sticks to play domestic house. Boss sends his regards, Avery. He wants your signatures on the municipal transfer deeds by sundown. Dead or alive, we’re taking something back to him.”
Lucian didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hands. He held the sleeping infant securely against his chest with his left arm while his right hand slowly slid into his trouser pocket, closing around a heavy brass door-stop he had snatched from the hallway table seconds earlier.
“Marcus sends his errand boys to do a man’s job,” Lucian said, his voice dripping with icy contempt. “Tell me, does he know you’re about to die for a piece of paper?”
The operative’s smile vanished. His finger twitched on the trigger. “End of the line, Avery—!”
Before the operative could squeeze the trigger, a blinding flash of light cut through the hallway windows as a massive explosion rocked the lower level of the estate.
BOOM.
The shockwave rattled the second-floor windows, throwing the four operatives off balance. The lead operative stumbled sideways, his rifle discharging harmlessly into the drywall ceiling.
It wasn't an attack. It was extraction.
Through the haze of smoke rising from the foyer, a second voice—loud, authoritative, and terrifyingly familiar—boomed up the stairwell.
“Avery! Get down!”
It was Thomas Reed, Lucian’s chief of security, who had tracked his GPS coordinates when Lucian failed to check in by noon. Thomas and an eight-man rapid response unit had just breached the front perimeter, clearing the courtyard with flash-bangs and precision coordination.
The operatives panicked, caught between a superior force behind them and Lucian in front of them.
Lucian didn't wait for them to recover. With explosive speed, he hurled the heavy brass door-stop straight into the face of the lead operative, dropping him instantly with a sickening crack of bone.
Before the remaining three operatives could raise their rifles, Thomas Reed appeared at the top of the stairs, his sidearm drawn, firing two precise shots into the shoulders of the nearest attacker while the other two threw down their weapons and hit the floor, hands locked behind their heads.
“Secure the landing!” Thomas barked into his comms unit as two enforcers rushed up the stairs to zip-tie the downed intruders.
Thomas stepped onto the master suite landing, breathing heavily, his eyes scanning Lucian for injuries. He took in the scene: the smoke, the shattered drywall, the armed men on the floor, and the tiny blue bundle clutched against Lucian’s chest.
May you like
Thomas blinked, utterly bewildered. “Boss... what the hell is in your arms?”
“My son, Thomas,” Lucian said, his voice deadly calm as he stepped back into the bedroom where Kate was standing, shaking but unharmed. “Now clean this garbage out of my house. Marcus Vance just signed his own death warrant.”
