Chapter 6 - Wolves at the Gate
The compound lights plunged into darkness.
Emergency red backup strips flickered to life along the baseboards, casting long, bloody shadows across the vaulted ceilings. The low, mournful wail of a silent alarm hummed through the concrete walls—a frequency felt in the chest more than heard.
"Nikolai, activate protocol Blackout," Roman commanded without a shred of panic. "Route the generators to the panic room. I want all external feeds routed to my mobile unit."
"Understood," Nikolai replied, already sprinting toward the tactical wing.
Roman turned to me. In the crimson light, his silhouette was monstrous, terrifyingly imposing. He pulled a compact 9mm Glock from his shoulder holster, racked the slide with a clean, metallic *clack*, and held it out to me handle-first.
"You remember how to shoot?" he asked.
I took the weapon. The cold steel felt familiar in my grip. My father had made sure I spent hours at the range before he gave me away in an arranged marriage.
"Double-tap center mass," I said, my voice eerily steady. "Don't stop until they hit the floor."
A dark, lethal smile touched the corner of Roman’s mouth—the first smile I had seen from him in months. "That's my girl."
He grabbed my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine. His grip was fierce, unbroken. He led me through a concealed panel behind the mahogany bookshelf, down a narrow flight of concrete stairs that led deep into the bedrock beneath the fortress.
"The south gate breach was a feint," Roman whispered as our footsteps echoed softly down the descent. "Julian knows this compound's blueprints. He won't come through the woods. He’ll use the drainage tunnels beneath the riverbank."
"Then where are we going?"
"To meet him," Roman said grimly.
"Roman, you're bleeding through your shirt!" I hissed, pulling him to a stop on the landing. In the red light, the dark stain on his shoulder had spread down to his ribs. "You can't fight him like this!"
"I'm not dying tonight, Serena," he said, turning to face me. He reached out with his free hand, gently cupping the nape of my neck, pulling my forehead to his chest. "I spent six months pretending you didn't exist. I am not going to let a dead man walk away from what he tried to take."
He pressed a fierce, bruising kiss to my lips. It was desperate, violent with raw passion, tasting of copper and rain. Six months of agony, six months of frozen nights and silent tears vanished into that single, searing contact. My fingers buried themselves in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as the ground above us rumbled with a distant detonation.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes blazing like twin fires.
"Stay behind me. If I tell you to shoot, don't hesitate."
"I won't," I vowed.
May you like
The heavy steel bulkhead at the bottom of the stairs swung open, revealing the industrial lower corridor of the bunker. But the room was not empty.
Standing by the central server bank, calmly adjusting the suppressor on his weapon, was Julian Vance.
