Chapter 11 - The Siege of the Fourth Floor
Z
Four men stepped through the shattered doorway, their silhouettes framed by the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. They weren't low-level thugs or desperate street enforcement. They wore dark tactical uniforms, unbranded balaclavas, and carried submachine guns fitted with heavy suppressors.
Marco didn't hesitate. He yanked his pistol from his coat, throwing his body in front of Adrian and me, and fired three rapid shots down the center of the doorway.
The thunder of gunfire inside the enclosed hotel room was deafening. Glass shattered, plaster rained down like white dust, and the scent of burnt cordite instantly drowned out the smell of old paper.
“DOWN!” Adrian roared, grabbing my arm and pulling me violently behind the massive mahogany desk just as a hail of bullets tore through the air above our heads, shredding the dust sheets into ribbons.
Marco took a hit to his left shoulder, grunting in pain as he stumbled back against the desk, but he kept firing, keeping the men trapped in the narrow choke-point of the door.
“They aren't hotel security!” Marco yelled over the deafening racket. “They’re a clean-up crew!”
“Julian!” Adrian growled, his dark eyes burning with an unholy, terrifying rage. He reached under Marco’s coat, unholstering a backup weapon—a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol—and checked the sight with ruthless efficiency.
“Willa, take the flash drive,” Adrian commanded, grabbing my hand and pressing the cool, tape-wrapped drive into my palm.
“No!” I shouted, staring at him through the rising cloud of plaster dust. “I’m not leaving you!”
“You have to!” Adrian snapped, his grip on my hand tightening until it hurt. “If they get this drive, Elena died for nothing! Leo’s life means nothing! You take Marco, get to the fire escape behind the heavy curtain, and get out of this building!”
“And what about you?” tears stung my eyes, mixing with the dust on my face.
Adrian looked at me, his sharp face illuminated by the muzzle flashes reflecting off the shattered mirrors. He pulled me close, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I’m going to kill every single man who made my wife live in hiding,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, calm, and absolute. “Now GO!”
Adrian stood up from behind the desk, firing four precise, devastating shots toward the doorway. Two of the masked men collapsed into the hallway, screaming as their tactical armor failed under the close-range impact.
Marco grabbed my shoulder with his uninjured hand, dragging me toward the back of the room where a heavy crimson curtain concealed an iron fire exit door.
“Come on, Ms. Vance!” Marco barked, pushing the emergency bar of the door down.
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I looked back over my shoulder just as the iron door swung open into the cold afternoon air.
Adrian was moving through the smoke like a nightmare, dark, unstoppable, cold fire in his eyes, advancing on the remaining attackers without a single step of hesitation.
