Chapter 10 - The Ambush Outside The Clinic And The Rage Of Ronan Hayes
Peace in Ronan Hayes’s world was always bought with vigilance.
On a cold Wednesday afternoon in November, I visited Dr. Miller’s private medical clinic in the city’s historic district for my final rib examination and routine follow-up. Ronan had been called into an emergency board meeting regarding a hostile takeover attempt by an offshore syndicate, but he had assigned Vance and four elite security operatives to escort me.
As I exited the clinic’s private courtyard accompanied by Vance, the sound of screeching tires shattered the afternoon quiet.
Two black, unmarked SUVs jumped the curb, blocking the driveway.
Four masked men armed with automatic submachine guns jumped out, opening fire directly on our security detail.
“Down! Miss Vance, get down!” Vance roared, tackling me behind a heavy concrete planter as bullets tore through the brick walls and shattered the clinic windows.
Vance drew his sidearm, returning fire with lethal precision, dropping two of the attackers instantly. But a smoke grenade landed near our feet, filling the courtyard with thick, blinding white smoke.
A heavy hand grabbed my arm, wrenching me away from the planter.
“Got the girl! Move, move!” a rough voice barked.
Instinct took over. The defensive combat techniques Ronan had personally taught me in the penthouse gym over the past six weeks kicked in instantly.
I didn't freeze. I didn't scream.
I slammed my steel-tipped heel straight into the attacker’s kneecap, followed by a vicious elbow strike into his throat. The man gagged, stumbling backward as his grip broke.
“Sadie, stay behind me!” Vance’s voice bellowed through the smoke.
A sharp gunshot cracked, and my attacker fell to the pavement. Vance grabbed my jacket, pulling me into the clinic’s reinforced security bunker just as sirens wailed in the distance.
The remaining attackers scrambled back into their SUV and sped away into the city traffic.
Five minutes later, the screech of tires echoed outside.
Ronan kicked the clinic doors open, his gun drawn, his face twisted in a terrifying, feral fury that sent chills down the spines of the arriving police officers.
When his eyes found me sitting safely against the bunker wall, his weapon dropped to his side. He crossed the room in two massive strides, dropping to his knees and crushing me against his chest with a desperate, trembling intensity.
“Are you hurt? Did they touch you?” Ronan rasped, his hands frantically checking my face, my arms, and my torso for injuries.
“I’m okay, Ronan,” I breathed, burying my face in his neck, feeling his rapid heartbeat pounding against my cheek. “I’m okay. Vance protected me. I fought back.”
Ronan looked over my shoulder at Vance, who was nursing a minor graze on his forearm.
“Who sent them?” Ronan asked, his voice dead, flat, and colder than a grave.
“Moretti’s rogue faction,” Vance replied grimly. “Dominic’s younger brother, Leo. He thought if he grabbed Sadie, he could force you to surrender the northern shipping docks.”
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Ronan stood up, helping me gently to my feet. The look in his slate-gray eyes wasn't just anger—it was the promise of complete, absolute extermination.
“Vance,” Ronan commanded. “Mobilize every team. Shut down the city. Tonight, the Moretti family ceases to exist.”
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