Part 34
"Get down!" Vance hissed, her chair screeching against the floor as she drew her service weapon in the pitch blackness.
My instincts, honed by years of a past I had tried so hard to bury, kicked in instantly.
I didn't panic. I didn't scream.
I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling toward the adjacent bedroom where Elena was sleeping, my heart rate spiking but my mind remaining crystal clear.
Two muffled thuds echoed from the hallway outside—the distinct sound of bodies hitting the floor.
The federal marshals guarding Elena were already dead.
"Vance, they’re inside," I whispered into the dark, my voice a deadly calm that surprised even the agent.
A sudden flash of gunfire illuminated the kitchen as Vance returned fire through the drywall, aiming for the shadows moving in the hallway.
The deafening roar of the un-silenced weapon shattered the quiet night, followed by a grunt of pain from the darkness.
I reached Elena’s room, slipping through the door just as a heavy flashbang grenade detonated in the kitchen behind me.
The blinding white light and concussive blast slammed the door shut, throwing me forward onto the carpet.
My ears were ringing violently, my vision swimming with white spots, but I forced myself up, crawling to the bed.
Elena was awake now, screaming in terror, unable to see or understand what was happening in the dark.
I grabbed her, pulling her off the bed and shoving her into the small, cramped space beneath the heavy wooden dresser.
"Stay here, look at me, don't make a sound," I commanded, pressing my hand over her mouth gently to soothe her as I looked out the window.
The safehouse was surrounded. I could see the faint silhouettes of tactical gear moving through the trees under the moonlight.
These weren't police. They weren't federal agents.
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They wore unmarked, matte-black armor and moved with the terrifying precision of apex predators.
Vanguard hadn't come to save Victor; they had come to erase the only witnesses who could tie the rest of the organization to his crimes.
