Chapter 8 - THE SAFE HOUSE
I awoke to the smell of dust and the sound of coughing. My ears were ringing loudly, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the chaos. I forced my eyes open. The hallway was completely collapsed. The front of my mansion, my empire, was a burning pile of rubble.
But the corridor to the panic room was intact.
I groaned, pushing a piece of drywall off my chest. My ribs screamed in agony, and blood was dripping into my eye from a gash on my forehead. I stumbled to the panic room door and punched in the override code.
The door hissed open. Clara was holding the children, all of them covered in a fine layer of dust from the ventilation, but completely unharmed.
"Lawson!" Clara cried, rushing forward to support my weight as I swayed. "You're bleeding."
"We have to go," I rasped, leaning on her slightly. "The blast sealed the front, but Vane's surviving men will find a way through the rubble. There's a hatch under the rug in here. It leads to the subterranean garage."
With the help of the two surviving guards, we moved fast. We climbed down the narrow ladder into the dark, damp tunnels beneath the estate. We reached the hidden garage where a black, fully armored SUV was waiting.
"Drive," I told the guard as we piled in. "Take us to the Blackwood cabin in the mountains. No GPS. No tracking."
We sped out through an exit tunnel that emptied miles away from the burning estate. I sat in the back, leaning my head against the cold window, watching the glow of the fire in the rearview mirror. Everything I had built was gone. The money, the power, the fear. It was all ashes.
But as I looked to my left, I saw Clara holding Jonah and Blythe. The children were fast asleep, their heads resting on her lap. Her hands gently stroked their hair. She looked at me, her eyes full of a quiet, profound empathy.
"We're alive," she whispered.
"Yeah," I breathed out.
The drive took four hours. The Blackwood cabin was a fortress disguised as a rustic hunting lodge, buried deep in the snowy mountains of Wisconsin. It was completely off the grid.
When we arrived, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale, cold light over the snow. The guards secured the perimeter while I carried the kids inside and laid them in the massive master bed, covering them with heavy quilts.
I walked out to the living room. Clara was standing by the stone fireplace, shivering despite the heavy coat I had wrapped around her.
"You should rest," I told her, walking over. "Your body has been through hell."
"I can't sleep," she admitted, looking up at me. "I keep closing my eyes and seeing the lab. And then I see the fire." She reached out, her fingers gently touching the bandage I had hastily slapped onto my forehead. "You need a doctor, Lawson."
"I just need you safe," I said. The words slipped out before I could stop them. They were true. Completely, undeniably true.
She looked at me, the space between us charged with an undeniable pull. We were two broken people, bound by trauma and blood, standing in the ruins of our pasts.
"Vane won't stop, will he?" she asked softly.
"No," I replied, my jaw tightening. "Which is why I'm not going to hide here. I'm going to leave you with the guards. I'm going to hunt him down and end this. Forever."
"You can't go alone, Lawson. It's suicide."
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"It's the only way to ensure he never comes near you or my children again." I reached out, cupping her face in my hand. Her skin was soft, warm. "When this is over... if I make it back... I want you to stay."
Tears welled in her eyes. She leaned into my touch. "Then you better make it back."
