Chapter 6 - THE SIEGE OF RIVER OAKS
The tactical reality hit me with icy clarity. I was inside a multi-million-dollar glass-and-stone cage with two small children, a wounded housekeeper, an unarmored interior, and a traitor who knew every escape route in the floor plans.
Outside were at least six to eight heavily armed hitmen carrying automatic weapons, equipped with signal jammers that were currently preventing me from calling for city-wide police backup or rallying my own security forces.
I dragged Patricia by the hair toward the pantry, her heels scraping wildly against the ruined tile floor. "You get inside there," I hissed, shoving her into the dark, enclosed pantry space. "If you make a sound, if you try to run, I will put a round through your knee."
I slammed the pantry door, sliding a heavy brass broom handle through the handles to lock her inside.
I low-crawled across the glass-littered floor to where Clara was huddled against the oak base of the island. She had wrapped her apron tightly around her upper arm to stem the bleeding from the bullet graze. In her other arm, she held Sophie crushed against her chest, her hands covering the little girl's ears to muffle the terrifying roar of gunfire outside.
Sophie was sobbing uncontrollably, her tiny body shaking with the same violent tremor I had seen earlier—only now it was amplified a hundred times over.
"Avery," I gasped, looking at Clara. "Where is Avery?"
"Upstairs," Clara panted, her face pale from shock and blood loss. "In the playroom. The doors are solid wood, but they won't stop automatic rifles, Ethan!"
"Listen to me," I said, leaning in, looking directly into Clara’s green eyes. The anger in my soul was gone, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus. "I misjudged you. I was an idiot. I let a snake into my home and I blinded myself to what you were doing for my family. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
Clara looked at the gun in my hand, then up into my eyes. She saw no deception, no corporate executive, no ruthless mobster—just a father willing to burn the city to the ground to keep his daughters breathing.
"Yes," she whispered, nodding firmly. "What do we do?"
"The house is built on a concrete slab, but Madeline and I built a reinforced panic shelter behind the wine cellar downstairs," I said quickly, dropping fresh magazines into my pockets from my inner vest. "It has an independent air filtration system, an un-hackable landline, and six-inch steel plating. It can survive a bomb blast."
"Where's the entry?"
"Behind the rack in the basement," I said. "I need you to take Sophie, get up the back service stairs, grab Avery from the playroom, and get them down into that basement. Do not stop for anything. If anyone other than me opens that door, you activate the internal lock from the inside."
"What about you?" Clara asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"I’m going to draw their fire to the front entrance," I said, a dark, terrible smile touching my lips. "They think they're hunting a businessman in a suit. They forgot how I bought this house in the first place."
I reached out, resting my hand gently on top of Sophie’s head. "Sophie," I whispered softly.
The little girl pulled her face away from Clara’s shoulder, her tear-stained eyes looking up at me in horror.
"Daddy loves you," I said, kissing her cold forehead. "Bunny is going to keep watch. Go with Clara. She knows the way."
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Sophie nodded weakly, her tiny hand reaching out to clutch Clara’s blood-stained sleeve.
"On three," I said, racking the slide of my Sig Sauer. "One... two... THREE!"
