CHAPTER 3 – THE BASEMENT BLOODBATH
CHAPTER 3 – THE BASEMENT BLOODBATH
The second shotgun blast ripped through the lock.
Steel screamed.
Concrete dust rained from the ceiling.
Lily wrapped both arms around Eli as the little boy struggled to breathe, each gasp sounding thinner than the last.
Tristan stepped in front of them without saying a word.
His Glock remained pointed at the door.
Completely steady.
The third blast tore the door halfway open.
A gloved hand reached through the gap.
Tristan fired once.
The bullet punched through steel.
A cry echoed outside, followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing.
Silence.
Only for two seconds.
"He's inside!" someone shouted.
"Kill him!"
Automatic gunfire erupted through the doorway.
Bullets shredded old pipes and exploded chunks of concrete from the walls.
Tristan dropped behind the rusted boiler, counting the rhythm.
Three shooters.
One shotgun.
Two rifles.
Professionals.
But professionals who believed they had already won.
They were wrong.
The basement lights had failed years ago.
Only the battery lantern illuminated the room.
When another burst of gunfire shattered it, darkness swallowed everything.
Exactly what Tristan wanted.
He knew how trained men reacted in darkness.
They relied on flashlights.
The first beam swept into the room.
Tristan fired toward the light.
One shot.
The flashlight spun across the floor.
Another body crashed into the wall.
A second beam appeared.
He fired twice.
A scream.
Silence again.
Only two left.
The shotgun roared.
Pellets blasted through old machinery inches above Tristan's head.
He rolled across the floor, disappearing into deeper shadows.
The remaining men spread out carefully.
"Boss says bring him alive!"
"No," another answered.
"Marcus changed his mind."
"Kill everyone."
Including the children.
Something inside Tristan snapped.
For fourteen years he had buried every emotion beneath discipline.
Now there was only purpose.
The first rifleman rounded the boiler.
Tristan caught his wrist before the man could react.
The Glock fired once beneath the chin.
The body collapsed without another sound.
The shotgun wielder turned too late.
Tristan slammed him into the concrete wall.
The shotgun fired harmlessly into the ceiling.
Before the man recovered, Tristan struck his throat with the edge of his hand.
Bone cracked.
The shotgun clattered across the floor.
One final shot ended the fight.
The basement became quiet.
Except...
Footsteps.
Not inside.
Outside.
More of them.
Far more.
"They're bringing reinforcements," Lily whispered.
Tristan searched the fallen gunmen.
Phones.
Knives.
Extra magazines.
Then he found what he needed.
A radio.
Static crackled.
"...south entrance clear..."
"...roof team in position..."
"...Marcus wants confirmation before midnight..."
Roof team?
Tristan's eyes narrowed.
He checked his watch.
11:18 p.m.
Marcus had planned every exit.
No wonder no one had escaped.
Then another voice came across the radio.
"Package Two has been secured."
Tristan froze.
Package Two?
"What package?" another man asked.
"The old woman."
A pause.
"Don't worry. She'll convince Vail to surrender."
Cold spread through Tristan's veins.
His grandmother.
The only family member still living at the old estate.
Marcus hadn't just betrayed him.
He had already begun taking hostages.
Tristan looked at Lily.
"Can your brother walk?"
She shook her head.
"He'll collapse."
Eli coughed violently.
His inhaler was nearly empty.
There wasn't time.
Tristan knelt beside the boy.
Without hesitation, he removed his own cashmere coat and wrapped it around Eli's tiny shoulders.
Then he picked him up.
The child weighed almost nothing.
Too light.
Far too light.
Lily stared.
"You'll carry him?"
"As long as I have to."
She blinked rapidly.
No one had carried either of them in a very long time.
"Stay behind me," Tristan said.
"If I tell you to run..."
She interrupted.
"I won't leave you."
For the first time that night...
May you like
Tristan almost smiled.
"You're as stubborn as your father."
