Chapter 8 - The Siege of East LA
Before Valerie could take the drive from his hand, a sharp, violent explosion rocked the building above them.
BOOM!
The earthen walls of the bunker shook violently, dust raining down from the wooden ceiling joists. The LED light flickered wildly before dying completely, leaving them in a dim, orange emergency glow.
Above them, the sound of tearing wood, shattering glass, and heavy tactical boots echoed through the studio floor.
"Search every room!" a bellowing voice roared from the upper floor. "The paramedic confessed! He said he dropped Brennan near this block! Tear down the walls! Check under the floorboards!"
"Marco's strike team," Brennan spat, his eyes darkening instantly into lethal focus. He tried to stand up, but his wounded flank buckled, a sharp hiss of pain escaping his teeth as he stumbled against the wall.
Valerie grabbed his arm, holding his massive weight up. "You can't fight them like this. You can't even stand."
"They have thermal scopes, Valerie," Brennan rasped, his hand dropping to his belt, grabbing a short black suppressor pistol he had kept hidden inside his jacket. "It's only a matter of minutes before they detect the heat signature beneath this floor. You need to leave through the rear utility pipe."
"There is no rear pipe," Valerie snapped, her mind racing with cold, terrifying precision. "This is a bunker. There's only one way out."
She looked at the small wooden ladder leading up to the trapdoor. She looked at her father's ledger on the desk, then at the micro-drive in Brennan's hand.
All her life she had run. She had run from Crawford, run from her aunt's house, buried herself three feet underground just to hide from a world that had taken everything from her.
She was done running.
Valerie walked quickly to her supply bench, grabbing a heavy brass canister of industrial solvent she used for stripping wood, along with three glass bottles of rubbing alcohol and a box of long fireplace matches.
"What are you doing?" Brennan asked, watching her with sharp intensity.
"You said Marco killed my father," Valerie said, her voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying calm. "And now he's in my house."
She turned to Brennan, reaching out her hand. "Give me your spare magazine."
Brennan stared at her for a long second. A dark, dangerous pride flickered deep within his gray eyes. Without a word, he pulled a full seventeen-round magazine from his coat pocket and placed it into her palm.
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"If you go up there, Valerie," Brennan said softly, his voice echoing in the small room, "there is no going back to a normal life. You become part of my world."
"Your world took my father," Valerie said, jamming the magazine into her jacket pocket. "It's time your world paid the bill."
