Chapter 9 - Fire and Steel
The underground archive plunged into sudden darkness as emergency backup generators kicked in, bathing the subterranean level in a dull, pulsing red glow.
Heavy gunfire echoed from the floors above—a rapid, rhythmic rattling of automatic weapons tearing through wood, glass, and drywall. The war for the Callahan syndicate had finally arrived at our doorstep.
“Stay right here,” I ordered, drawing my Sig Sauer and chambering a round with a sharp, metallic snap.
“Like hell I’m staying down here while a gunfight is happening!” Emily snapped, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out a compact Glock 19 that Victor must have provided her with earlier. She checked the magazine with cold, practiced efficiency. “I spent ten years waiting for the men who killed my parents. I am not hiding in a basement while they come to finish the job.”
I didn't have time to argue. The heavy steel door at the top of the archive stairs burst open, and two armed mercenaries wearing tactical vests and black ski masks charged down the steps, automatic rifles raised.
Bang. Bang.
Before I could fire, Emily dropped into a textbook combat stance, squeezing off two rapid rounds through the red gloom. The lead gunman took a direct hit to the shoulder, tumbling backward down the metal staircase and crashing into his partner.
I stepped up, firing a precision double-tap that neutralized the threat permanently.
Emily lowered her weapon, breathing heavily, her blue eyes locked on me.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I muttered, grabbing her arm. “Move! We need to reach the panic room on the upper level before they seal the stairwells.”
We sprinted up the stairs, dodging falling debris and the deafening concussions of flashbang grenades echoing through the grand hallway. The Barrington estate was a war zone. Smoke billowed from the west wing, shattering crystal chandeliers and riddling the antique oil paintings with bullet holes.
As we reached the grand foyer, three more of Marcus’s enforcers emerged from the smoking corridor, weapons drawn and aimed directly at us.
I shoved Emily behind my back, raising my pistol, knowing we were outmatched and outgunned in the open space.
Before the mercenaries could pull their triggers, a deafening roar echoed from the front double doors.
The massive oak doors were blown inward in a cloud of splintered wood and smoke. Victor Maas stepped through the threshold, flanked by a dozen of our most loyal elite guards, heavy tactical shotguns raised and smoking. Kneecapping shots rang out in rapid succession, and all three mercenaries collapsed to the polished marble floor, disarmed and neutralized in seconds.
May you like
“Boss!” Victor shouted over the ringing alarms, rushing forward. “The lower cell block has been secured! Marcus tried to escape during the chaos, but he’s pinned in the courtyard.”
“End it,” I said coldly, handing my pistol to Victor. “Bring him to me.”
