Chapter 8 - THE SIEGE OF TRURO
I found the hidden latch under the Persian rug in the master bedroom. With a heavy groan, the floorboards gave way, revealing a steel staircase descending into darkness. I scrambled down, the twins mercifully silent, sensing my terror. I hit the emergency lock button, and the heavy titanium door slammed shut above us, sealing us in a tomb of concrete and monitors.
The panic room had a wall of screens displaying the security cameras from all over the property. I laid the babies on the cot in the corner and sat in front of the monitors, trembling as I watched the nightmare unfold.
Black SUVs tore through the front gates. Armed mercenaries swarmed the perimeter, pouring automatic gunfire into the bulletproof glass. For a minute, the glass held, spider-webbing under the assault. Then, they brought up a heavy explosive charge.
The front doors blew inward in a massive fireball.
And Kaelen went to war.
He moved like a phantom. I watched through the cameras as he systematically picked them off. He had set traps—flashbangs rigged to the doorways, claymore mines in the foyer. But they kept coming. He shot with terrifying precision, dropping men with single bullets to the head, moving through the shadows of his beautiful home and turning it into an abattoir.
But there were too many of them.
On the camera in the west wing, I saw Kaelen take a hit. He stumbled backward, a spray of red mist exploding from his shoulder, dropping behind a heavy marble pillar for cover. Three men advanced on his position, laying down suppressive fire. He was pinned. Out of ammo.
My heart stopped. I couldn't sit here and watch him die.
I looked around the panic room and saw a weapons locker. Inside was a compact, fully automatic submachine gun. I had never fired a weapon in my life, but I remembered everything Kaelen had done. Release the safety. Brace for recoil. Aim center mass.
I looked at Leo and Mia. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered.
I unlocked the titanium door and climbed the stairs. The house was deafening—the roar of gunfire, the smell of cordite and burning drywall choking the air. I crawled on my stomach down the hallway, clutching the gun.
I peeked around the corner. The three mercenaries were slowly advancing on Kaelen’s pillar, their weapons raised. Kaelen was bleeding heavily, pulling a hunting knife from his boot, preparing to die fighting.
I didn't think. I stood up, raised the heavy gun, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
The recoil nearly threw me onto my back. The gun roared, spraying a wild arc of bullets down the corridor. When the magazine clicked empty, I opened my eyes.
The three men were on the ground, motionless.
Kaelen stared at me from behind the pillar, absolutely stunned. “Ella... what the hell are you doing?”
“Saving your life,” I screamed over the ringing in my ears. “Again!”
Before he could answer, a slow, sarcastic clapping echoed from the ruined foyer.
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“Well, isn't this a touching domestic scene,” a voice drawled.
We both froze. Stepping over the rubble of the front door was a man who looked like a twisted reflection of Kaelen. Same dark hair, same broad shoulders, but his eyes were black, cold, and entirely dead. Declan Vance. He had a massive revolver in his hand, and he was pointing it straight at my chest.
