Chapter 3 - Darkness in the East Wing
The emergency backup generators kicked in three seconds later, bathing the corridors in a dull, pulsing red security glow.
Across the house, the intercom hissed to life with a burst of static, followed by Prescott’s urgent voice. "Boss, we’ve got multiple breaches along the south perimeter wall. Heavy ordnance. Vane’s men didn't come to scout—they came to wipe out the estate. They know Elena is inside."
Elena stepped out of the medical suite, her face pale in the red emergency light. "What's happening?"
"Crosby Vane," I said, my voice dead calm as I unholstered my Sig Sauer and slapped a fresh magazine home with a sharp, metallic click. "He followed you here."
"Because my research drive is in my bag in your foyer," Elena said, her eyes widening with panic. "The clinical data on the cellular regeneration protocol... if Vane gets his hands on it, he can weaponize the synthetic agents to target specific genetic profiles. He can control the pharmaceutical black market across the entire Midwest."
"He’s not getting anything," I told her, my gaze locking onto hers with absolute finality. "Lock this suite from the inside. Do not open this door for anyone—not for my voice, not for my men, unless I give you the passphrase Veritas. Understand?"
"Lawson, wait," Elena grabbed my forearm, her fingers cold against my sleeve. "You can't fight an entire assault team alone in the dark."
"I'm not alone," I said, a dark, dangerous smile touching my lips. "This is my house."
I turned on my heel, moving through the red-lit corridors toward the central staircase where the heavy sounds of gunfire were already echoing up from the foyer.
Vane’s mercenaries were professionals—ex-military contractors wearing night-vision goggles and carrying suppressed tactical carbines. They had breached the main oak doors using a linear cutting charge, reducing the historic entryway to splinters and ash.
I dropped into a crouch behind the reinforced marble pillars of the second-floor balcony, looking down into the darkened foyer below.
Three operatives in black tactical gear were sweeping the ground floor, their rifle beams cutting through the smoke and dust.
Crack. Crack.
Two precise shots from my Sig Sauer dropped the lead operatives instantly, their ceramic body armor absorbing the impact but knocking the wind out of them as they crashed hard against the marble floor.
The third operative spun around, firing a blind burst upward that shattered the stone balustrade inches from my face.
Before he could correct his aim, a heavy brass floor lamp came crashing down from the upper landing, hurled with surprising strength.
I looked up.
Elena stood on the third-floor gallery, holding another heavy decorative statue, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with absolute fury.
"I told you to stay in the medical suite!" I shouted over the din of gunfire.
"I don't take orders from men with death wishes!" she yelled back, shoving the second statue over the railing. It struck the remaining mercenary squarely in the shoulder, dropping him like a stone.
May you like
Before we could catch our breath, a chilling, familiar voice echoed from the shattered entrance below.
"Well, well, well," Crosby Vane drawled, stepping out of the smoke into the red emergency light, holding a heavy-caliber pistol with a relaxed, mocking smile. "Lawson Mercer, reduced to playing bodyguard for a disgraced nurse. And here I thought your heart turned to stone the day your wife died."
