Chapter 3 - The Fortress in the Pines
Gunfire erupted across the manicured lawns.
Heavy rifle rounds shattered the stained-glass windows above the grand
staircase.
Lethal glass rain rained down on the marble foyer.
"DOWN!" Adrian roared.
He threw his body over Lucy and me, slamming us behind the massive mahogany
buffet table.
Bullets chewed through the wood, sending heavy oak splinters whistling past my
ears.
Lucy couldn't hear the gunfire.
She couldn't hear the screams.
But she felt the violent vibrations through the floorboards.
Her eyes were huge with terror.
She clutched my wrists, her nails digging into my skin.
“Look at me, Lucy,” I signed frantically with one hand, pressing her face
against my chest.
“Keep your eyes on me! Breathe with me!”
Adrian fired three rounds over the mahogany rim.
A shooter shrieked in the hallway and collapsed with a heavy thud.
Matteo returned fire with an automatic shotgun.
The concussive blasts rattled my teeth.
Brielle was crawling across the Persian rug toward the shattered French doors,
screaming for help:
“Daddy! I’m in here! Don't shoot the parlor!”
Through the smoke stepped a man in a gray overcoat.
Senator Thomas Ashton.
Brielle’s father.
Behind him were six mercenaries in unmarked black tactical uniforms.
“Get the girl!” Senator Ashton shouted, pointing a gloved finger at Lucy.
“If we have both kids, Marzano signs the port contracts tonight!”
My blood turned to boiling oil.
They weren't just taking Owen.
They were taking Lucy too.
Adrian rose from behind the mahogany barrier like a titan of retribution.
He didn't flinch as rounds sparked off the silver serving trays beside him.
He emptied his magazine in two seconds flat.
Two mercenaries dropped clutching their chests.
A third fell into the fireplace.
“Rachel!” Adrian barked without looking back.
“Take Lucy through the wine cellar tunnel! The keys to the armored Suburban are
on the hook by the barrels!”
“What about you?!” I yelled, pulling Lucy to her feet.
“I’m right behind you,” Adrian said, slamming a fresh magazine into his weapon.
“RUN!”
I grabbed Lucy’s hand and sprinted toward the kitchen service entrance.
A mercenary stepped from behind the pantry door, raising a submachine gun.
I didn't think.
I swung the heavy brass candelabra from the sideboard with all my strength.
The metal smashed into the side of the gunman’s helmet.
He staggered back into the industrial racks, groaning.
Lucy grabbed a heavy chef’s knife from the magnetic strip and thrust it into my
good hand.
Her face was pale, but her hands were steady.
She signed: I fight too.
We tumbled down the stone steps into the dark, damp wine cellar.
The roar of battle raged overhead.
Footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs behind us.
May you like
Heavy, tactical boots.
Someone was following us into the dark.
