Chapter 8 - The Hunt in the Dark
We moved quickly through the dark, silent corridors of the mansion, illuminated only by the bloody red glow of the floorboards and the occasional flash of lightning through the high windows.
My heart was beating so fast I could barely breathe, my sneakers squeaking softly against the polished hardwood. The memory of Ryan's heavy hands around my neck returned with terrifying intensity, making my throat tighten in panic.
"Ethan..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "What if he has a gun?"
"Then he better not miss," Ethan replied coldly, his eyes sweeping every doorway, every shadowed corner with deadly precision.
We reached the entrance of the grand study. Ethan slipped the brass keycard into the electronic lock on the double doors. A secondary battery unit beeped, and the heavy walnut doors unlocked.
Ethan pushed me inside the room, following close behind, and locked the door behind us.
The study was dark, the large glass wall overlooking the garden showing nothing but sheet after sheet of white rain falling through the black night.
"The safe room is behind the wall panel near the fireplace," Ethan instructed, leading me across the dark room toward the stone hearth. "It's reinforced steel with an independent oxygen supply and satellite communications. You'll be completely safe inside."
"What about you?" I asked, grabbing his sleeve, panic seizing my chest as I realized he wasn't planning on coming inside with me. "Ethan, you can't go back out there in the dark!"
"I am not hiding in a box while a dog tears up my home, Ivy," Ethan said, reaching out to press a hidden button concealed within the carved stone mantlepiece.
A low hydraulic hiss echoed through the room as a section of the wood-paneled wall slid open, revealing a heavy steel door with an illuminated digital keypad.
Before Ethan could type the access code, the sound of heavy glass shattering echoed from the far end of the library.
CRASH!
A cold gust of rainy wind rushed into the study, bringing with it the sharp smell of ozone, wet dirt, and cheap bourbon.
Ethan immediately shoved me behind his back, raising his gun toward the dark window wall.
Out of the darkness stepped Ryan.
He looked unhinged. His hair was wild and soaked with rain, his clothes torn from climbing the wire fence, his left eye bloodshot and frantic. In his right hand, he held a heavy iron crowbar, dripping with rain and glass shards.
"Found you, you bastard!" Ryan yelled, his voice cracking with manic rage, echoing wildly off the vaulted ceiling.
"Drop the iron, Ryan," Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm, his gun leveled directly at Ryan's chest. "You have five seconds before I put two rounds through your center mass."
Ryan laughed—a high-pitched, hysterical sound that made my skin crawl. He wiped rain from his eyes with his sleeve, taking a slow step forward into the dim light.
"Shoot me then, Caldwell!" Ryan screamed. "Go ahead! Do it in front of your little maid! Show her what kind of monster you really are! Just like your old man!"
"You're drunk, Ryan," Ethan said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And you're trespassing on my property for the last time."
"She wasn't worth it!" Ryan raged, pointing the heavy crowbar at me where I cowered behind Ethan. "A worthless, broke little cleaning girl! I offered her everything! I could have taken care of her! But she chose you—a cold, heartless billionaire who doesn't give a damn about anyone!"
May you like
"I care about her," Ethan stated, his voice echoing through the storm-battered room with absolute, unyielding conviction. "Which is why you are never going to touch her again."
Ryan snarled, raising the crowbar over his head, and lunged forward across the rug directly at Ethan.
