Chapter 8 - Scars Beneath the Black Shirt
Glass exploded across the hardwood floor.
Shards of heavy tempered crystal rained down like hail.
In a fraction of a second, Victor tackled me off the sofa.
We hit the floor hard behind the low concrete lip of the living room fireplace.
CRACK.
Another round tore through the leather couch right where my chest had been half
a second earlier.
Feathers and foam erupted into the air.
"Thermal optics!" Victor hissed into my ear.
His arm was clamped across my shoulders, pinning me flat against the cold slate
floor.
"They have a spotter on the tree line!"
The storm raged through the gaping hole in the window.
Freezing wind howled into the room, sending curtains thrashing like ghosts.
Rain sprayed across the floor, soaking the blood-stained gauze and the shattered
glass.
"Stay flat!" Victor commanded.
He didn't reach for his handgun this time.
He reached under the hearth of the stone fireplace and pulled a heavy metal
ring.
A false stone slid back, revealing a subterranean arms locker.
He pulled out an automatic Benelli shotgun and two flashbang canisters.
His bare, burned back was flecked with fresh cuts from the falling glass, but he
ignored the blood running down his spine.
"Adrien?" I choked out, covering my head as another bullet gouged a chunk out of
the concrete wall above us.
"No," Victor said, loading three heavy 12-gauge shells into the tube with
lightning speed.
"Adrien doesn't shoot from six hundred yards. This is my father’s private
security detail."
"Antonio sent a hit squad after his own son?!"
"Antonio protects the family name above all else," Victor’s voice turned
pitch-black with hatred.
"To my father, I’m a rogue asset. A liability who knows too much. And you’re the
loose end who can tie Adrien to the federal judge’s murder."
The sniper fire stopped abruptly.
The sudden silence was more terrifying than the gunshots.
"They're moving in," Victor whispered.
"Two-man breach team through the broken window. Spotter covering the perimeter."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black flash drive.
He pressed it into my hand, curling my bloody fingers tightly around it.
"What is this?" I asked, terrified.
"The encryption key for your studio hard drive," Victor said, looking directly
into my eyes.
"If I don't make it out of this room, you crawl through the service hatch behind
the kitchen pantry. It leads to a boat slip beneath the cliff. Take the Zodiac
boat south."
"No! I’m not leaving you here!"
"Lena, listen to me," he gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
His thumb swept away a tear on my soot-covered cheek.
"Adrien spent six months pretending to be your savior. I’m not pretending. I
will kill every man who steps through that window to keep you alive. But you
have to run when I give the word."
Bootsteps crunched on the shattered glass near the terrace.
Two men.
Tactical gear.
Silenced carbines raised.
Victor didn't wait for them to acquire their targets.
He pulled the pin on a flashbang canister with his teeth and hurled it over the
sofa toward the shattered glass.
BANG!
A blinding white flare illuminated the entire room, accompanied by a concussive
shockwave that rattled my teeth in my skull.
The men outside cried out in disorientation.
Victor rose from behind the hearth like an avenging demon.
BOOM!
The Benelli roared.
A mercenary in body armor was lifted off his feet, crashing through the
remaining glass panel into the storm.
BOOM!
A second blast shredded the tactical rifle of the second operator, dropping him
to his knees on the bloody floorboards.
Victor didn't fire a third time.
He closed the distance in two massive strides, grabbed the surviving man by the
throat, and slammed his head into the reinforced concrete pillar.
The man went limp instantly.
Victor stood amidst the wreckage, the shotgun smoking in his grip, rain pouring
over his bare, bleeding shoulders.
He looked toward the shattered tree line outside.
A red laser dot danced across his chest.
The sniper.
"Victor!" I screamed.
Before I could think, I grabbed the heavy cast-iron poker from the hearth and
hurled it toward the glass, throwing my body into Victor's side.
We both crashed to the ground just as the sniper round cracked through the air.
The bullet missed Victor’s heart by an inch, tearing a deep furrow through his
upper shoulder.
Victor grunted in pain, rolling onto his back.
Blood welled thick and dark from the wound.
"You're hit!" I cried, crawling over him, pressing both hands against the torn
flesh of his shoulder.
Hot blood pulsed against my palms.
Victor looked up at me through the dim amber light.
Despite the bullet in his shoulder, despite the blood running down his skin, a
ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"You saved my life, cara mia," he murmured, his breath catching.
"Shut up and don't die," I sobbed, pressing harder against the wound.
Suddenly, headlights swept across the ceiling of the safehouse.
A heavy convoy of black SUVs pulled into the gravel driveway out front.
Dozens of car doors slammed.
And over a megaphone, a familiar, sickeningly polite voice echoed through the
storm:
"Victor! Lena! Come out with your hands up! Father wants to have a family
May you like
discussion!"
Adrien had arrived.
