Chapter 8 - The Siege of the Estate
Back at the Ashford estate, the heavy iron security gates were already twisted iron and burning rubber.
Two black vans had rammed the front perimeter, disgorging a dozen of Caldwell’s most elite mercenaries armed with breaching charges and suppressors. They moved with terrifying efficiency, bypassing the exterior guard posts and swarming the grand stone steps of the mansion.
Inside her third-floor suite, Elena heard the muffled, concussive thump of a breaching charge blowing open the front foyer doors far below.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She didn't freeze. She didn't cower under the bed. The survival instincts forged during weeks of captivity roared back to life with absolute clarity.
She bolted to the door, turned the heavy brass key in the lock, and dragged a heavy oak dresser across the entrance, wedging it firmly against the frame just as heavy boots thundered up the second-floor staircase.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets ripped through the heavy oak door panels, splintering wood and showering the bedroom in debris.
“Clear the rooms!” a harsh voice shouted from the hallway. “Find her! Caldwell wants her alive, but he doesn't care how many pieces she’s in!”
Elena backed away from the door, her eyes scanning the room. No fire escape. No secondary exit except the high arched window overlooking the courtyard fifty feet below.
She grabbed a heavy brass bedside lamp just as the doorknob rattled violently and the entire door frame cracked under the force of a tactical kick.
With a sickening crunch, the lock gave way, and the door flew inward, sending the dresser sliding across the floor.
A massive enforcer in tactical gear stepped through the breach, his assault rifle raised.
Without a second of hesitation, Elena hurled the heavy brass lamp straight at his face. It caught him square in the temple, staggering him back just enough for Elena to duck under his arm and sprint out into the hallway.
She bolted down the corridor toward the service stairs, her bare feet flying over the polished hardwood floors.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Someone grabbed the back of her sweater, yanking her violently backward.
She let out a sharp cry as she hit the floor, twisting around and driving her heel straight up into her attacker's knee with all her remaining strength. The man groaned, loosening his grip just enough for her to wrench herself free and hurl herself down the remaining steps toward the ground floor.
As she hit the bottom landing, the front doors blew wide open with a deafening roar of engines and screeching tires.
A sleek black Mercedes drifted violently into the grand foyer, smashing through the shattered glass doors. The passenger door flew open before the car even came to a complete stop.
Dominic Ashford stepped out, his gun drawn, his face a mask of cold, murderous rage.
He saw Elena scrambling across the marble floor, pursued by an enforcer raising his weapon.
Dominic didn't hesitate. His pistol cracked once.
The enforcer dropped instantly, collapsing onto the marble tiles.
Dominic holstered his weapon in a single fluid motion, crossed the room in two strides, and hauled Elena up against his chest, pulling her tight against him as if he meant to fuse her into his very bones.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice trembling slightly with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel.
“I’m okay,” she gasped, burying her face in his shoulder, her fingers gripping the lapels of his coat. “I’m okay.”
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Dominic looked up as Marco and Felix swarmed through the shattered entryway, securing the remaining rooms and dragging the surviving mercenaries out into the courtyard.
The siege was over. But Dominic knew there was only one way to end this war permanently.
