Chapter 9 - The Crossfire
The sleek black Phantom cut through the dark, winding coastal roads of the Hamptons, heading back toward the city at a breakneck speed. Inside the leather-lined cabin, the silence was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the confrontation.
Lydia sat staring out the window, watching the dark trees blur past. Her hands, resting in her lap, were finally beginning to stop shaking.
"You were insane back there," Lydia whispered, turning her head to look at Damon in the dim dashboard light. "If he had pulled a trigger..."
"He wouldn't have," Damon interrupted quietly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Volkov is a coward disguised as a brute. Cowards hesitate when they realize they're outmatched. And you terrified him."
"I terrified a Russian mafia boss?" Lydia let out a breathless, half-hysterical laugh. "I'm a doctoral candidate in linguistics. I should be grading papers on Slavic syntax right now."
"Instead, you just helped me dismantle a ten-million-dollar arms smuggling ring in forty-eight hours," Damon replied, slowing the car as they approached a secluded private checkpoint outside the city limits. "And more importantly... you proved you belong in this world."
Suddenly, the night air shattered.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
Automatic gunfire ripped through the passenger side of the Phantom. Bullets starred the bulletproof glass, screaming off the reinforced steel frame with deafening concussive force.
"Get down!" Damon roared, instantly lunging across the console and shoving Lydia down onto the floorboards of the car, shielding her body with his own broad shoulders.
Another burst of gunfire peppered the roof. The driver slammed on the brakes, spinning the heavy luxury vehicle into a hard skid as two black SUVs blocked the narrow forest road ahead, masked men pouring out with assault rifles raised.
"Ambush," Damon cursed, his voice hard as steel. He didn't panic. In a single fluid motion, he pulled a sleek Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster, checked the magazine, and popped the car door open.
"Stay in the footwell, Lydia," Damon commanded, his eyes blazing with cold, lethal fury. "Do not move."
"Damon, wait—" Lydia grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.
May you like
"I told you," Damon said, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before stepping out into the hail of gunfire. "Nobody touches my people."
---
