Chapter 4 - INTO THE FIRE
The grand hallway of the Graham estate had transformed into an absolute warzone.
Thick grey smoke hung heavily in the air, smelling sharply of cordite, shattered plaster, and burned motor oil. The magnificent crystal chandelier that had hung in the central foyer lay shattered on the marble floor, its glittering fragments mixed with spent shell casings.
Narin stayed low to the ground, pressing her back against the dark wood paneling as she moved down the corridor.
Ahead of her, near the double doors leading to the east wing office, two armed men clad in dark tactical vests were advancing with submachine guns raised.
“Clear the rooms!” one of the men barked, his voice muffled by a black ski mask. “The boss said no survivors. The whole estate goes down today!”
Narin’s heart hammered violently against her ribs. She was a maid, not a soldier. She possessed no weapons, no tactical training, and no physical defense against automatic rifles.
Yet, as she looked at the heavy oak doors of Declan’s office, she knew with absolute certainty that he was trapped inside behind his desk, entirely unable to climb out a window or run down a staircase. His guards had been drawn away or killed in the initial breach at the front gates.
She glanced to her left. Resting on an antique wooden pedestal was a heavy bronze statue of a Roman warrior—a decorative piece she had polished just two days prior.
Without allowing herself time to hesitate, Narin grabbed the heavy bronze base, lifted it with all the strength in her back, and slammed it through the glass pane of a display cabinet beside her.
The sound of shattering glass echoed loudly through the wing.
“Over there!” one of the gunmen shouted, spinning around and aiming his weapon toward the display cabinet. “Check the alcove!”
Both men shifted their attention away from the office doors, stepping cautiously toward the shattered cabinet.
Narin didn't waste a single second. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawling silently through the shadows behind their blind spot, slipping through the cracked double doors of Declan’s office, and slamming them shut behind her.
She instantly threw the heavy brass lock into place.
Declan was standing—or rather, propping himself up—behind his massive mahogany desk, a heavy silver revolver gripped firmly in his right hand. His knuckles were bone-white, his face grim and deadly.
He turned the gun toward the door, his eyes widening in pure shock when he saw Narin standing there, panting heavily with soot smeared across her forehead.
“Are you insane?!” Declan shouted over the sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway outside. “I told you to leave!”
“They’re coming!” Narin gasped, rushing over to his desk. “There are at least six of them! They brought an SUV straight through the front entry!”
Heavy fists began hammering relentlessly against the locked office doors.
“Open the door, Graham!” a harsh voice yelled from the hallway. “Rossy sends his regards!”
A volley of bullets tore through the thick oak doors, splattering wood splinters across the room.
Declan fired two shots back through the wood, sending a painful grunt of surprise echoing from the other side. But both he and Narin knew the lock would not hold for long.
“Narin, get behind the desk!” Declan ordered, his voice cold and desperate as he tried to adjust his balance against the mahogany furniture. “Take the emergency elevator behind the bookshelf! The panel opens from the inside!”
Narin looked at the narrow hidden panel behind the library shelves, then looked down at Declan, whose paralyzed legs were completely incapable of moving him across the room without his wheelchair—which had been overturned near the door during the gunfire.
“You can’t reach it,” she said plainly.
“I’ll hold them off!” Declan roared, aiming his revolver back at the splintering door. “Go!”
May you like
“No,” Narin said.
She grabbed his heavy leather belt with both hands.
