Chapter 2 - The Fire and the Iron
The mansion plunged into chaos with the precision of a military operation.
Outside, the first squad of mercenaries moved across the manicured lawns under the cover of smoke grenades. The heavy, rhythmic chug of suppressed carbines shattered the twilight tranquility of the estate.
Damon led Selena through the service tunnels beneath the main floor. He didn't rush blindly. Every step was measured, calculated. He knew every square inch of the Mercer manor; his grandfather had built it during the volatile union wars of the 1960s, constructing it less like a villa and more like a fortress disguised in limestone and imported marble.
“Damon,” Selena whispered, running alongside him, keeping her head low. “What about the men in the conference room? Malcolm and the others?”
“If Malcolm is still in that room, he’s either praying or loading a gun,” Damon said coldly. “If he’s not, he’s the one who gave them the schedule.”
“You think one of your own men betrayed you?”
“No one outside that boardroom knew I was taking the Suburban to Tucson at 6:00 PM,” Damon replied. “The hit was timed for the departure. Whoever planted that bomb knew my exact motorcade layout.”
They reached the hidden service stairs that led behind the kitchen pantry. Damon tapped the wooden door three times in rapid succession.
A pause. Then, the slide of the heavy brass bolt.
Anna opened the door, her face pale, holding the massive steel butcher knife like a veteran soldier. Behind her, sitting on an upside-down pickle bucket, was Ruby. The little girl still held the handle of her pink suitcase with both hands, Barnaby’s ear clamped firmly under her arm.
When Ruby saw Selena, her little face crumpled. “Mommy!”
Selena dropped to her knees, abandoning all caution, and pulled the child into her arms. She buried her face in Ruby’s curls, weeping openly now, kissing her temples, her cheeks, her shoulders. “My baby. My brave, brave girl. You did so good. You saved us. You saved us both.”
Ruby touched Selena’s bruised cheek with a tiny, gentle thumb. “The bad man hurt you.”
“I’m okay, mi vida. I’m okay because of you.”
Damon watched them for half a heartbeat. A strange, sharp ache hit him right behind the sternum—a sensation he hadn't felt in fifteen years of ruling the Mercer syndicate. He had spent his life surrounded by men who would die for his money, but looking at this mother and child, he realized he would tear the city apart with his bare hands before he let anyone touch them.
“Marcus,” Damon keyed the radio. “I have the package. Meeting at Point Zulu.”
*“Negative on Zulu, boss!”* Marcus’s voice was strained, punctuated by the roar of a shotgun blast. *“They’ve breached the main foyer! They know the layout! They’re sweeping toward the residential corridors! Malcolm tried to run for his car and caught two in the chest at the front steps—he’s down!”*
Damon’s eyes narrowed. *So Malcolm wasn't the rat. Or he was a rat who had outlived his usefulness to his handlers.*
“Where is the strike team leader?” Damon demanded.
*“He’s using heavy armor. Bearcat markings. Boss, this isn't a street crew. This is Nikolai Vance’s private wet work contractors. They came to wipe the slate clean.”*
Nikolai Vance. The syndicate boss from the northern territory. A man Damon had pushed out of the narcotics trade three years ago. Vance had been quiet, too quiet. Clearly, he had spent those three years buying ex-special forces operators and waiting for a crack in the armor.
“Marcus, fall back to the wine cellar,” Damon commanded. “Trigger the suppression system in the gallery. Then meet me at the vault tunnel.”
*“Moving now!”*
Damon turned to Anna. “Anna, the tunnel under the pantry leads to the carriage house. Take the old Subaru parked behind the mulch shed. Drive straight to St. Jude’s parish. Ask for Father Thomas. Tell him Damon Mercer sent you. Do not stop for red lights.”
Anna looked at Selena and Ruby. “And them?”
“They’re coming with me,” Damon said.
He bent down, picking Ruby up with his left arm while keeping the Kimber ready in his right. Ruby automatically tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her tiny fingers digging into the collar of his suit jacket.
“Hold on tight, Ruby,” Damon whispered.
“I got Barnaby,” she murmured into his skin.
“Good girl.” Damon looked at Selena. “Pick up your suitcase. We have ninety seconds before they realize the pantry line is the only escape vector left.”
Selena grabbed the handle of the battered pink suitcase without hesitation. There was no hesitation in her eyes now—only a mother’s feral will to survive.
They moved through the secondary kitchen access and down into the stone-walled cellar where hundreds of dust-covered vintage wines lay in wooden racks. The smell of damp earth and aged oak hung heavy in the air.
Suddenly, an ear-splitting roar tore through the house above them.
The shockwave shook the ceiling, raining pulverized mortar and dust down upon their heads. Ruby let out a muffled shriek against Damon’s neck.
The bomb on the Suburban had been detonated.
Vance’s men had realized the motorcade wasn't moving and blew the vehicle remotely to level the west wing and breach the inner foundations.
“Keep moving!” Damon shouted over the ringing in his ears.
At the end of the wine cellar, behind an antique iron rack holding empty Burgundy bottles, Marcus appeared from the shadows. His face was streaked with soot, his jacket torn, a Benelli tactical shotgun gripped in his weathered hands.
“They’re entering the basement from the rear stairs,” Marcus reported, breathing hard. “We have four bogeys descending.”
“Seal the iron bulkhead,” Damon commanded.
Marcus threw his weight against a massive, rusted iron lever hidden inside the wall. With a groaning screech of ancient counterweights, a three-inch-thick steel storm door slammed down into the stone floor, cutting off the wine cellar from the rest of the manor.
Immediately, heavy automatic fire slammed into the other side of the steel door. Sparks sprayed through the microscopic seams, but the door held.
“That’ll give us five minutes,” Marcus said, racking the shotgun. “Where to, boss?”
“The drainage culvert out to the ravine,” Damon said. “We take the unmarked truck in the forestry shed. We get off this mountain before Vance can scramble air support.”
He glanced down at Selena. She was covered in white stone dust, her hair disheveled, but her posture was rigid, eyes locked on him.
“You ready?” he asked her.
Selena reached out, placing her hand over his where he held Ruby securely against his chest. Her touch was warm, steady, defying the chaos around them.
“Wherever you go,” she said softly.
May you like
Damon nodded once, the ice in his veins turning to liquid fire. “Let’s move.”
***