Chapter 7 - THE MIDNIGHT SIEGE
Gunfire erupted from the floors below, a deafening cacophony of automatic weapons and shattering glass. The war had breached the gates.
I ran to the guest suite. Clara was out of bed, struggling to stand, holding onto the dresser for support. I scooped her up into my arms without a word. She gasped but wrapped her arms tightly around my neck.
"They're inside," I told her, carrying her down the hall to the panic room where Jonah and Blythe were waiting with two of my most loyal guards.
"Daddy!" Blythe cried as I ran in. The heavy steel door of the panic room was open. The kids were terrified, holding each other on the floor.
"Listen to me," I set Clara down on a cot and knelt in front of the twins. "We are going to play a game. The floor is lava, but with noise. I need you to stay with Clara and these men. Do not open this door for anyone but me. Do you understand?"
Jonah nodded bravely, pulling his sister close. Clara reached out and pulled both children onto the cot with her, wrapping her arms around them protectively. She looked at me, her gray eyes fierce and terrified.
"Don't die, Lawson," she whispered.
"I have too much to live for now," I replied.
I stepped out of the panic room and hit the heavy hydraulic lock. The steel door sealed shut with a massive thud, locking them away from the slaughter.
I turned toward the grand staircase. Smoke was beginning to fill the hallways. Vane's men, dressed in black tactical gear, were swarming up the marble steps. My men were fighting fiercely, but we were outnumbered.
I raised my rifle and opened fire.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of primal violence. I fought not for territory, not for pride, but for the breathing, healing lives locked in that steel room. I moved like a phantom through my own home, utilizing hidden passages and blind corners, taking down Vane's mercenaries one by one. The Persian rugs soaked up blood; the priceless artwork was shredded by stray bullets.
But there were too many of them.
I took a grazing shot to the ribs. The impact spun me around, knocking the breath from my lungs. I scrambled behind a marble pillar as a hail of bullets chipped away at the stone.
"Mercer!" a booming voice echoed from the foyer below. It was Crosby Vane. He stood amidst the carnage, wearing a bespoke suit over body armor, a cruel smile on his scarred face. "It's over, Lawson! Your men are dead or dying. Give me the kids, give me the Vanguard freak, and I'll let you blow your own brains out to save yourself the torture!"
"Go to hell, Vane!" I shouted back, reloading my weapon.
"I'm already there!" Vane laughed. "Bring up the thermite!"
My heart stopped. Thermite. They were going to burn through the panic room door. I couldn't hold them off long enough.
I keyed my radio. "Prescott. Are you alive?"
Static. "Barely, Boss. Pinned down in the east wing."
"I'm initiating protocol Omega. Blow the main gas lines in the foyer. Take the whole front of the house down."
"Lawson, that will bring the ceiling down on you!"
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"Do it!" I roared.
I sprinted toward the panic room corridor. Behind me, a massive, earth-shattering explosion ripped through the mansion. The shockwave threw me off my feet, hurling me violently into the wall. The world went white, then entirely black.
