Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF THE FORTRESS
The study transformed in a split second from a place of quiet intimacy into a command center for war.
Dominic didn't panic. He didn't shout. His face turned to stone, his grey eyes flashing with lethal, practiced focus. He reached under his heavy mahogany desk, his powerful upper body moving with terrifying speed, and pulled out a heavy black semi-automatic pistol, racking the slide with a sharp, metallic CLACK.
“Emma, get behind the desk,” Dominic commanded, his voice slicing through the suddenly chaotic air.
Outside, the muffled pop-pop-pop of suppressed automatic gunfire echoed through the heavy stone walls of the mansion, followed by the shattering of glass in the lower conservatory.
Emma’s heart slammed into her throat. She slid off the armchair, her hands shaking, and backed up against the reinforced wooden frame of Dominic’s desk, her eyes wide with terror. She had spent her life dealing with unpaid bills and medical forms; she had never heard a gun fired in anger in her life.
“Mr. Kane—”
“Stay down,” he barked. He hit the master security console on his desk. Heavy steel shutters slammed down over the massive glass windows, locking the study in total darkness save for the red emergency backup lights that flickered to life along the baseboards.
The intercom crackled again, filled with static and the sounds of heavy combat. “Dominic! It’s Vance’s men! They breached the lower security hub—they’ve cut the main power grid! They’re heading up the east staircase!”
Ethan’s voice was cut off by a heavy explosion that rattled the floorboards beneath their feet.
“They aren't here for the estate,” Dominic said quietly, his voice dangerously steady as he pointed his weapon toward the double mahogany doors. “Marcus knows I haven't left this wing in six months. He thinks he’s catching a helpless target in a cage.”
“What do we do?” Emma whimpered, clutching her knees against her chest behind the desk.
Dominic turned his wheelchair slightly, positioning himself directly in the center of the room, completely exposed in the red glare of the emergency lights. He held the heavy pistol in his right hand, his left hand gripping the wheel control.
“We don't do anything, Emma,” Dominic said, his gaze fixed on the heavy wooden doors. “You stay hidden. And you watch what happens when a predator thinks he’s hunting a crippled lion.”
A heavy thud rattled the mahogany doors.
BOOM.
The heavy brass lock splintered.
Two men dressed in tactical black gear, wearing night-vision goggles and carrying submachine guns, kicked the doors open and burst into the room.
“CLEAR LEFT!” one barked.
They didn't expect Dominic to be waiting in the open.
BANG! BANG!
The deafening roar of Dominic’s heavy pistol shattered the acoustics of the study. The first gunman’s head snapped back, his body crashing lifelessly against the bookshelf before he even brought his weapon to bear.
The second gunman panicked, spraying a burst of automatic fire toward the desk. Bullets shredded the leather armchair and tore through the plaster wall.
Dominic didn't flinch. With incredible, terrifying upper-body strength, he spun his wheelchair sideways, dodging the angle of fire, fired twice more through the muzzle flash.
BANG! BANG!
The second gunman collapsed onto the oriental rug, coughing blood, his weapon clattering across the floor.
Silence fell over the study, broken only by the heavy, metallic smell of spent gunpowder and the hum of the red emergency lights.
Dominic lowered his weapon, his arm entirely steady, his chest heaving with cold, focused adrenaline. He looked over his shoulder at the desk.
“Emma?” he called out, his voice laced with a sudden, desperate edge he couldn't suppress. “Emma, are you hit? Answer me!”
Emma slowly peeked her head over the edge of the mahogany desk, her face white as a sheet, her body trembling violently. She looked at the two dead men on the floor, then at Dominic, sitting amidst the smoke like a dark god of vengeance.
“I’m... I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m not hit.”
Dominic let out a long, heavy breath, the intense tension in his jaw visibly loosening. “Good.”
Before he could say another word, a slow, mocking round of applause echoed from the hallway outside the shattered doorway.
Marcus Vance stepped over the bodies on the threshold, holding a sleek silver revolver in his hand. Behind him stood two more heavily armed mercenaries, their weapons pointed straight at Dominic’s chest.
“Impressive, Dominic,” Marcus drawled, a sick, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he looked around the ruined study. “Even without the use of your legs, you still manage to put on a show. I almost feel nostalgic.”
Dominic didn't lower his gun, though he knew he was out-gunned three to one. “You came to my house, Marcus. That’s a mistake you won't live to regret.”
“Is it?” Marcus laughed softly, stepping further into the room. “Your security detail is dead or pinned down in the basement. Your house is dark. And you... you are trapped in that little rolling chair, entirely at my mercy.”
Marcus’s eyes drifted toward the desk, catching sight of Emma cowering in the shadows behind the wood.
“And who is this?” Marcus purred, his smile widening into something truly monstrous. “Ah... the little temp cleaner from Willow Glen. The one who made the great Dominic Kane smile again.”
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Marcus pointed his silver revolver directly at Emma’s head.
“Let’s see how much you smile when I put a bullet through her brain, Dominic.”
