Chapter 7 - The Final Desperate Storm
Legal victories, however absolute, do not always stop desperate people who have nothing left to lose.
By nine o'clock that evening, a massive autumn storm had rolled in over the mountain pass, blanketing Pine Ridge in howling winds, driving rain, and blinding flashes of lightning.
Inside the lodge, the atmosphere was warm, peaceful, and bright.
In the living room, a fire crackled softly in the river-stone hearth. Chloe sat on a plush rug in her pajamas, happily building a massive wooden castle with Mrs. Gable, her cheerful laughter ringing out through the warm room.
Stallone stood by the kitchen island, pouring hot tea into three mugs, feeling a deep, unshakeable sense of relief settling into his soul for the first time in years.
Suddenly, the lights in the house flickered twice and died completely, plunging the grand lodge into absolute darkness.
Mrs. Gable gasped softly. “Oh dear, the storm must have taken down a power line on the main road.”
“Stay here, Mrs. Gable,” Stallone said calmly, pulling a heavy tactical flashlight from the drawer. “The backup generator should kick on in ten seconds.”
He waited. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. The generator remained silent.
Stallone’s tactical instincts, honed over a lifetime of danger, flared into high alert instantly. The automatic generator at Pine Ridge was industrial-grade, housed in a reinforced shed behind the house. It didn't fail because of rain. It only failed if someone manually cut the primary feed wires.
“Marcus,” Stallone called out quietly into his wrist radio.
Only static answered. The main communications jammer had been activated nearby.
Stallone turned toward the living room, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register. “Mrs. Gable. Take Chloe into the master bedroom storm shelter down the hall. Lock the steel door from the inside and do not open it for anyone except me.”
Mrs. Gable didn't ask questions. Seeing the look in Stallone’s eyes, she immediately gathered Chloe into her arms and hurried silently down the dark hallway.
Chloe looked back over Mrs. Gable’s shoulder, her eyes wide. “Daddy?”
“I’m right here, sweet pea,” Stallone whispered, offering her a calm, reassuring smile in the dark. “Go with Mrs. Gable. It’s just a game.”
The moment the storm shelter door clicked shut, the heavy glass window of the kitchen shattered with a deafening crash!
Two dark figures clad in black rain gear and tactical masks stepped through the broken frame into the kitchen, holding heavy iron crowbars and zip-tie restraints. They were private mercenaries—hired by Evelyn using her last remaining offshore cash before her accounts were frozen, sent to commit a desperate, violent raid to seize Chloe and force Stallone into signing a legal settlement.
“Search the rooms!” the lead mercenary hissed to his partner over the sound of the howling wind. “Find the kid!”
A shadow rose from behind the kitchen island.
Stallone didn't shout. He didn't warn them.
He lunged forward with explosive, terrifying force. Before the lead mercenary could raise his crowbar, Stallone grabbed the man’s jacket, slammed him violently against the granite island counter, and disarmed him with a single, brutal wrist twist that sent the iron bar clattering across the floorboards!
The second mercenary lunged at Stallone from the side, swinging an iron pipe toward his head.
Stallone ducked under the swing, stepped into the man’s guard, and drove a powerful, heavy fist directly into the attacker’s solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp. He grabbed the man by the collar, spun him around, and hurled him full-force through the heavy oak dining room table, shattering the furniture into splinters!
The lead mercenary scrambled off the floor, pulling a heavy stun-gun from his belt, his eyes wide with frantic terror as he realized the seventy-year-old patriarch was a physical force of nature.
“Stay back!” the man screamed, firing the stun darts!
Stallone grabbed a heavy wooden dining chair, using it as a shield to catch the wire darts! With a roar of primal fury, he stepped through the chair, smashed it across the mercenary’s chest, and pinned the man against the heavy timber wall by his throat!
The mercenary choked, dropping his weapon, staring into Stallone’s eyes—eyes that burned in the dark like an angry lion defending its cub.
“Who sent you?” Stallone growled, his grip tightening until the man’s boots barely scraped the floorboards.
“E... Evelyn!” the man choked out, gasping for air. “She... she paid us! She’s waiting in a car... at the gate!”
Stallone held him for three seconds, then drove a solid right hook into the man’s temple, knocking him instantly unconscious. The mercenary collapsed to the floor like a sack of rocks.
Outside, the blaring sirens of state police cruisers—guided by Marcus, who had bypassed the jammer using a secondary satellite beacon—echoed up the mountain driveway, their red and blue lights flashing wildly through the rain-streaked windows.
Stallone took a deep, steadying breath. He adjusted his collar, wiped a drop of rain from his forehead, and walked calmly down the dark hallway toward the storm shelter.
He knocked three times—their private code.
The heavy steel door unlocked, swinging open to reveal Mrs. Gable holding Chloe close in the dim emergency light.
Chloe looked up at her father. She didn't see the dark room, she didn't see the broken glass, and she didn't see the storm outside. She only saw the man who had stood between her and every monster in the world.
Stallone dropped to his knees, opening his broad arms wide.
Chloe ran straight into his embrace, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck as hard as she could.
“Are the bad people gone, Daddy?” she whispered into his shoulder.
May you like
Stallone kissed her soft hair, holding her close against his heart as the police lights painted the walls in brilliant blue and gold.
“They’re gone, sweet pea,” Stallone whispered softly. “They’re gone forever.”
