Chapter 7 - The Line in the Sand
A flash-bang grenade bounced across the hardwood floor, exploding with a deafening bang and a blinding flash of white light.
Iris screamed as the sheer acoustic shockwave threw her against the side of the desk, her ears ringing violently, her sight reduced to a spinning mass of purple spots.
Through the haze of smoke and rain pouring through the broken window, two tall figures dressed in dark tactical gear and night-vision goggles vaulted into the room, their suppressed submachine guns raised.
Roman didn't retreat.
He moved like a shadow through the smoke. Two rapid gunshots rang out—sharp, loud cracks that cut through the thunder outside.
The first intruder collapsed backward through the shattered window, his weapon clattering across the coral deck outside. The second attacker pivoted, swinging his barrel toward Roman, but Roman caught the man's weapon by the thermal shroud, wrenching it upward as a spray of automatic fire chewed through the ceiling plaster.
Roman slammed his right elbow into the attacker's throat, followed by a point-blank shot to the chest. The man dropped instantly to the rug.
"Iris!" Roman yelled, his voice cutting through the ringing in her ears.
He swept across the room, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her behind the heavy mahogany door just as a barrage of bullets ripped through the oak desk where she had been sitting seconds earlier.
Wood splinters rained down around them like shrapnel.
"Can you walk?" Roman demanded, his eyes searching her face in the dim moonlight filtering through the storm.
"Yes!" she gasped, clutching her hurt arm against her ribs, her heart hammering wildly against her sternum.
"Through here! Move!"
He pushed open a narrow, hidden panel set into the mahogany wall behind the stone fireplace. Inside was a small, windowless concrete room illuminated by low-voltage red emergency strip lights.
Roman pushed her inside. "Stay here. Lock the door from the inside."
"No! Roman, come inside with me!" Iris cried, grabbing his lapels, refusing to let go. "It's a steel door! They can't get through it!"
"The control panel for the estate's perimeter defense is in the main hall," Roman said, his face inches from hers in the dark red glow. "If I don't manual-override the gates, Geno and the rest of my men are caught in a crossfire between the docks and the main driveway."
He reached up, his broad hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her forehead against his.
"Listen to me, Iris Wakefield," Roman whispered, his voice thick with raw, fierce emotion. "I spent twenty years living in the dark so I could build something real. You are the best thing in my life. I am not letting these bastards take you away from me."
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was hard, fast, and filled with twenty-one years of unsaid promises, the taste of storm rain and smoke lingering on his lips.
Before she could process the breathtaking heat of his mouth, Roman pulled back, pushed her into the concrete room, and slammed the heavy steel door shut.
The heavy deadbolts slammed into place automatically from the outside.
"Roman!" Iris screamed, pounding her uninjured left fist against the thick steel plate. "Roman!"
Only silence answered her through the three-inch-thick ballistic steel.
Inside the small, red-lit room, Iris leaned her forehead against the cold metal door, her tears falling freely now, mixing with the dust on her face.
On the small security monitor mounted to the wall inside the safe room, she could see the camera feeds from the main hallway.
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Three more armed men were advancing down the corridor toward the library, their weapons raised.
And walking out from the shadows of the library entrance—completely exposed, his charcoal sweater torn, his gun held low at his side—was Roman Carbone.
