Chapter 6 - Code Black
Panic didn't have time to set in.
In a fraction of a second, Dominic Vale transformed from a grieving father into an apex predator. His hand slammed onto a hidden panic button beneath his desk, and a heavy steel security shutter slammed down over the study's windows with a loud, mechanical thud.
He pulled a heavy black automatic pistol from a concealed holster beneath his arm, checking the magazine with practiced, lightning-fast precision.
"Stay in this room," Dominic ordered, his voice commanding absolute obedience. "Do not open the door for anyone except me."
"What about Noah?!" I yelled over the distant, muffled sound of a second gunshot echoing from the front gardens.
"The north wing panic room is locked automatically by the master system!" Dominic shouted, sprinting toward the heavy study doors. "He's secure!"
"He's not secure!" I screamed, chasing after him. "If men are breaching the perimeter, Noah isn't going to understand what's happening! If he hears gunshots, he's going to think the ambush is happening all over again! He'll tear himself apart trying to hide!"
Dominic froze with his hand on the heavy oak door. He looked back at me, his slate-gray eyes wide with a sudden, horrifying realization.
"If I go up there, I leave the ground floor exposed," Dominic growled. "If you go up there, you're walking into a live tactical zone."
"Then we go together," I said, my voice cutting through the panic. "Give me a weapon."
Dominic stared at me for one breathless second, weighed the impossible choices of his violent world, and then reached behind his back, pulling a compact Smith & Wesson revolver from his waistband and shoving it directly into my hands.
"Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire," Dominic commanded, his voice cold as steel. "Let's move."
We burst out of the study and into the sprawling main hallway. The mansion was in a state of high-alert lockdown; emergency strobe lights flashed a dull, eerie red along the baseboards, and automated security klaxons wailed in the distance.
As we reached the base of the grand staircase, the heavy front glass doors of the foyer shattered inward with a deafening crash of breaking crystal and splintering wood.
“Clear the hallway! Move, move, move!” shouted a harsh, gravelly voice from the entrance.
Three heavily armed men wearing tactical vests and black balaclavas poured through the shattered doorway, automatic rifles raised, scanning the foyer for targets.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol, stepped around the corner of the staircase, and fired twice.
Bang! Bang!
The lead intruder dropped instantly, spinning hard against the marble floor. The other two gunmen scattered, diving behind marble pillars and returning fire with a rapid, deafening burst of submachine gun fire that chewed the plaster right off the walls above our heads.
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"Suppressing fire!" Dominic yelled, firing three more rounds to keep them pinned behind the pillars. "Clara, go! Get to the north wing! Now!"
I didn't argue. I gripped the revolver with both hands, turned, and bolted up the grand staircase two steps at a time, my ribs screaming with sharp pain, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
