Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
The mansion’s backup generators kicked in with a dull hum, plunging the hallways into emergency crimson lighting.
Julian had turned Dominic’s offensive against him. He had leaked the dock meeting intentionally, drawing Dominic and his elite strike force miles away, leaving Blackthorne House under minimal guard.
I didn't panic. Panic was for victims, and I had stopped being Julian Vance’s victim eight years ago.
I opened the weapons locker beside the command desk. I drew a modified Glock 19, checked the magazine, chambered a round, and slid two extra clips into my waistband. I locked the vault entrance with an encrypted override that only my thumbprint and Dominic’s could open from the outside.
Caleb was safe inside. Julian would never breach that steel door before Dominic returned.
Which meant Julian’s target on this floor was me.
I moved silently down the darkened west wing, keeping my back to the wall, every sense dialed to razor sharpness. The faint smell of cordite drifted down the corridor. Dominic’s perimeter guards had fought hard—two of Julian’s men lay dead near the grand staircase—but the invaders were moving fast.
"Elena!" Julian’s voice echoed down the marble foyer. "Come out, darling! It’s bad manners to keep your fiancé waiting after eight long years!"
I rounded the corner of the mezzanine, aiming through the balustrade.
Standing in the center of the grand ballroom, right where Caleb and I had nearly died three weeks ago, was Julian Vance.
He hadn't aged into weakness; if anything, the years had made him sharper, leaner, and more venomous. He wore an immaculate cashmere overcoat over a tailored suit, his sandy-blonde hair slicked back, a suppressed pistol held loosely in his gloved right hand. Flanking him were four heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear.
"You haven't changed, Julian," I called out from the shadows of the upper balcony, my gun leveled directly at his forehead. "Still paying other men to bleed for you."
Julian froze, then looked up into the shadows. A slow, sickening grin stretched across his handsome, cruel face.
"There she is," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark triumph. "My runaway masterpiece. Look at you. Playing the brave soldier. Tell me, Elena, does Dominic Mercer touch you the way I did? Does he know how easily you shatter?"
"Dominic Mercer is three times the man you will ever be," I spat, my finger tightening on the trigger. "And he’s on his way back right now."
Julian laughed—a high, mocking sound that bounced off the ruined ceiling. "Mercer is currently trapped in a crossfire at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He’s surrounded by sixty hired guns. Even if he survives, he won't make it back before dawn."
He gestured to his men. "Bring her down. Break her legs if she runs. She only needs her mouth to say *I do*."
Two mercenaries bounded up the twin staircases.
I fired twice. The first bullet took the lead mercenary through the shoulder, sending him tumbling down the marble steps. The second mercenary dove behind an antique settee as gunfire ripped through the drywall above my head.
I rolled behind a thick marble column as plaster exploded in white dust around me. The pain in my healing ribs flared, a hot, stabbing agony, but adrenaline drowned it out.
I leaned out, fired another controlled pair, pinning the second shooter, then sprinted toward the service corridor. I knew every inch of this mansion; Julian’s men were operating off blueprints.
Footsteps pounded behind me. A mercenary rounded the corner, raising a shotgun.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped low, slid across the polished hardwood floor, and fired upward. The round punched through his chest armor; he collapsed with a heavy thud.
Before I could recover my footing, a heavy blow struck the side of my face.
The impact sent my gun skittering across the floor. I crashed against the wall, stars exploding across my vision.
Julian stood over me, his face twisted in savage delight. He holstered his sidearm and grabbed me by the throat, hoisting me off the floor and slamming my back against the wall.
"Did you really think you could run forever, Elena?" Julian snarled, his breath hot and rancid against my skin. "You belong to Chicago. You belong to the Vance empire. And now, you're going to watch me burn this house down with Mercer’s brat inside."
My hands clawed at his grip. Black spots danced before my eyes. My lungs screamed for oxygen.
Then, from the shattered front doors of the estate, a sound shattered the night like the roar of an enraged titan.
May you like
The roar of an engine.
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