Chapter 4 - The Shadows at the Gate
The quiet didn't last.
At two in the morning on my fifth day, the sharp, rhythmic crackle of suppressed gunfire shattered the night.
I bolted upright in my armchair, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Instantly, the emergency lights in Liam’s room flashed red. The heavy iron security shutters over the windows began to descend automatically with a loud, mechanical whine.
Liam was already awake, pulling himself upright using the overhead trapeze bar despite the agony tearing through his abdominal stitches.
“Clara! Get down!” he barked.
The heavy double doors burst open. Leo rushed in, his suit jacket torn, holding a silenced submachine gun. “Carmine’s men bypassed the outer gate! They have a leak inside our security team!”
Gunfire erupted directly outside the hallway. Bullets slammed into the heavy oak doors, splinters flying into the room.
I dropped to the floor beside Liam’s bed, hiding behind the heavy frame as the room filled with the smell of ozone and cordite.
“How many?” Liam demanded, his voice devoid of fear, filled only with cold tactical focus.
“Six inside, more in the courtyard!” Leo shouted, firing a burst through the doorway to keep the attackers at bay.
A man stepped into the threshold—tall, masked, carrying a shotgun pointed straight at the bed.
I didn't think. I grabbed the heavy glass water carafe from the nightstand and hurled it with all my strength.
It struck the shooter squarely in the side of his neck. He staggered back, off balance, giving Leo the fraction of a second he needed to put two rounds into the intruder's chest.
The shooter collapsed into the hallway.
Leo slammed the heavy doors shut and dropped the titanium bar into place, locking us inside.
“Clara,” Liam called out.
I was shaking on the floor, my palms scraped by broken glass, but I looked up at him.
He reached down over the edge of the bed, extending his hand to me. “Get up. You’re not dying in my bedroom.”
I took his hand. He pulled me up beside him on the mattress. His grip was steady, an anchor in the middle of a warzone.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his hands rapidly scanning my arms, my face, my shoulders for blood.
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“I’m fine,” I breathed, staring at his chest. His abdominal bandage was completely soaked in fresh, bright red blood. The violent exertion had ripped his internal sutures. “Liam... your stomach.”
“It doesn't matter,” he growled, ignoring the blood soaking his trousers. He looked at Leo. “Clear the hallway. I want Carmine brought to me alive.”
