CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CIAN
THE GRAVEL CRUNCHES softly beneath Jack’s boots as he comes to a halt. His hand moves deliberately, reaching down to pick up a jagged stone. In the same motion, he pulls his gun from its holster, the silencer already screwed on tight. He glances at me, the faint gleam in his eyes catching the moonlight. I know that look. It’s a silent question, and my answer is always the same.
I nod, the weight of my weapon a comforting reminder in my hand. Carefully, I twist the silencer into place, keeping my movements precise and silent. Jack’s fingers twitch, and he launches the stone into the air with practiced ease. It arcs high, disappearing for a moment before clattering noisily against the roof of the security outhouse.
The response is immediate. Inside, we hear the muffled sound of boots scraping on concrete. Voices—three, maybe four. The gates groan on their hinges as they start to open, just enough for one man to step out and scan the area. He’s cautious, staying close to the shadow of the wall. A tactical move, smart, but not smart enough.
Jack holds his position, his finger flexing slightly against the trigger. I stay crouched in the darkness beside him, every muscle tense. The guard doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t step far enough away for us to strike without exposing ourselves. My chest tightens. Jack’s plan is slipping through our fingers.
Then he picks up another stone.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm as he lobs it farther this time, the sharp sound echoing off the walls. The guard reacts instantly, pulling his weapon and stepping to the side of the road. His gaze pierces the darkness, scanning for threats he can’t see.
That’s when Jack fires. The silenced shot is barely a whisper, but it’s deafening to me. The guard crumples where he stands, a single shot to the head sending him sprawling on the ground. Blood pools beneath him, dark and glistening in the faint light. So much for getting in and out clean.
I move with Jack, both of us inching closer to the gate, the tension between us electric. A second man appears in the gateway, his gun drawn. Before he has time to process what’s happened, I line up my shot and pull the trigger. He drops silently, his body slumping back into the shadows.
It’s too easy. Too quiet. My instincts scream at me just as the third man emerges, but he doesn’t come out into the open like the others. He’s smarter, holding back just enough to stay in cover. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to calculate the odds, but then the unmistakable sound of gears grinding fills the air.
“The gates,” I hiss under my breath. They’re closing.
Jack doesn’t respond. He’s already moving, his posture low and his weapon raised. There’s no time to think, no time to plan. I’m right behind him, every nerve in my body on fire as we close the distance between us and the rapidly shrinking gap. One wrong move, one hesitation, and we’ll be locked out—or worse, pinned down with no entry.
I can feel the weight of the night pressing in on us, heavy and suffocating. The third man is still out there, somewhere in the shadows, and I know he’s waiting. Waiting for us to make a mistake.
"Move," Jack says. I do. "Take out the cameras," Jack orders, and I focus on the cameras on either side of the gate, taking them out one by one with quick, precise shots. The third man fires at Jack but misses. Jack doesn’t. His return shot finds its mark, and the man collapses in a heap just as the gates are nearly closed. Jack moves fast, grabbing the nearest dead body and wedging it between the gates, halting their progress.
“Go,” he growls. We still have to shift sideways to squeeze through the narrow gap, every movement tight and deliberate. Inside, the radio on the waistband of one of the fallen guards crackles to life, the sound like a jolt to my nerves.
“Everything okay down at the gates?”
The voice is calm, but we know better. We’re out of time.
Jack and I move up the long driveway, sticking close to the hedge line. The night air is still, but my pulse pounds like a war drum in my ears. Every step is deliberate, each one calculated to avoid the crunch of gravel. The house looms ahead, its darkened windows glinting faintly under the pale moonlight. It looks quiet, but we both know better.
A faint buzz catches my ear—mechanical and subtle. I freeze, my eyes scanning until I spot it: a sleek black camera mounted above the garage. Its lens sweeps the area, a tiny red light blinking with the rhythm of a heartbeat. I raise my pistol, steady my breathing, and pull the trigger. The silencer muffles the shot, but the sparks that erupt from the camera’s shattered body are bright in the darkness. It droops lifelessly against its mount.
Jack nods approvingly, and we press forward. We’re halfway to the house when the front door creaks open, spilling a faint beam of warm light onto the stone steps. Two men step outside, their postures casual, unaware of the danger creeping closer. They’re talking in low voices, but their words are lost because of the distance. One of them pauses mid-sentence, his foot crunching on the shards of the destroyed camera. He glances down, then up, his eyes narrowing in alarm.
He doesn’t get the chance to shout. Jack emerges from the hedge line like a ghost, his movements fluid and silent. The pistol in his hand barks twice, the suppressed shots blending into the night. Both men collapse, one crumpling against the doorframe, the other spilling onto the path—the warm light pools around their still forms.
“Door’s open,” Jack mutters, his voice barely audible. His eyes scan the area, sharp and vigilant.
I nod, my own gaze sweeping the property for any additional cameras. None. That’s good—if we can blind the men inside, this becomes a different game—a winnable one.
We approach the house slowly, the faint scent of fresh-cut grass mingling with the metallic tang of blood in the air. Jack reaches the door first, his back pressed against the frame as he peeks inside. He glances at me, a quick nod signaling the all-clear.
I step through the doorway, my gun held steady in front of me. The house’s interior is a stark contrast to the tense darkness outside. Soft classical music drifts through the air, its elegant notes weaving a strange, haunting melody. It’s coming from somewhere deeper within the house, but the echo makes it hard to pinpoint.
The entryway is grand—marble floors, an ornate chandelier hanging overhead. I scan the room, my grip tightening on my weapon.
“Clear,” I whisper over my shoulder to Jack, who slips in behind me. His presence is a solid reassurance, even though we’re walking into the lion’s den.
A movement catches my eye—just a flicker at the edge of my vision. I turn quickly, training my gun on a hallway that branches off to the right. Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks.
“They know we’re here,” Jack says quietly. His voice is low, calm, but I hear the edge in it. He’s right. The men in this house don’t need cameras to sense a threat. They’ve survived this long for a reason.
I nod, swallowing hard, and press forward.
Each room we pass is lifeless, the silence only broken by the faint hum of distant music growing louder. My pulse hammers in my ears, anticipation and dread warring inside me. The source is close now.
Jack walks beside me, his movements fluid but deliberate.
Finally, we reach the end of the corridor. The door ahead is slightly ajar, and from my angle, I catch sight of the back of someone’s head. It’s drooped forward, their body slumped unnaturally. My breath catches, chest tightening painfully.
Luna.
Without thinking, I step forward, my hand reaching for the handle. But before I can grip it, Jack’s strong hand clamps over mine. I whip my head toward him, eyes narrowing, but the look on his face stops me cold. His lips are pressed into a grim line, his dark eyes hard as stone. He gives a subtle shake of his head. He doesn’t need to speak for me to understand. This is a trap.
But I can’t stand here and do nothing. I glance back through the crack in the door. Luna stirs, a faint groan escaping her lips. Relief and rage collide within me, almost knocking me off balance. She’s alive. But she’s bound to a chair, her arms restrained tightly behind her back.
That’s when I hear it—the distinct, gut-wrenching click of a gun being cocked behind me.
“You got further than I thought you would,” a voice drawls, smooth and smug.
My body goes rigid, the adrenaline spiking through my veins as I turn slowly to face him. Richard stands there, flanked by a small army of men, all with their guns trained on Jack and me. His smile is a cruel slash across his face, one that makes my stomach churn.
“Drop your weapons,” Richard orders, his tone laced with mockery, as though he’s already won.
I let a smirk curl my lips, refusing to let him see how the odds are stacking against us. “Just give me Luna, and I’ll let you all live.” My voice is calm and confident.
Richard laughs, a low, guttural sound that grates against my nerves. “I don’t think you’re seeing the situation clearly, friend. There are eight guns pointed at your head. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and out of options.”
“Oh, I see just fine,” I say smoothly, tilting my head. “But you don’t really think we came alone, do you? That would be foolish.”
The smirk slips from Richard’s face, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. He glances sharply at three of his men. “Check the perimeter,” he snaps.
As they move to obey, I do a quick mental calculation. That leaves five of them in the room. Five against us? Doable, but not without risk. My mind races for a plan, my hand tightening on my weapon.
“Drop your weapons,” Richard repeats, his voice sharper now, more insistent.
Jack moves first, his jaw clenched so tightly I can almost hear his teeth grinding. He lowers his gun to the ground with deliberate slowness, then kicks it over to Richard with more force than necessary. The heavy clang echoes in the charged silence. Richard’s gaze snaps back to me, expectant.
Reluctantly, I follow suit, dropping my gun and sending it skidding across the floor. The moment it leaves my hand, two of Richard’s men close in on me, their intentions clear.
But they’ve underestimated us.
Jack strikes first, a blur of motion, as he lunges at the closest man. He wrests the gun from the guy’s grip and uses him as a human shield, firing over his shoulder with ruthless precision. The room erupts into chaos, bullets flying and men shouting. I dive for cover, adrenaline sharpening my every move.
Jack ducks into a side room, dragging me with him as we regroup. He fires several quick shots through the window, the glass shattering with a deafening crash. It’s enough to send a message to our men outside. They wouldn’t have heard our earlier shots because we used silencers, but the last few bangs are loud enough to wake the dead.
Then, just as planned, reinforcements arrive. Gunfire explodes in the hallway, a cacophony of controlled chaos. I catch a glimpse of our men charging in, their movements practiced and efficient. The tide is turning.
But it’s not over yet.
Jack and I re-enter the fray, taking advantage of the distraction to eliminate two more of Richard’s men. I fight my way toward Luna, my focus narrowing to a single point: her.
Richard retreats, but not before locking eyes with me, his expression a promise of vengeance. I don’t care. He can’t run far enough.
Finally, I reach her, my hands working quickly to untie the ropes that bite into her wrists. She’s dazed, her head lolling slightly, but when her eyes meet mine, there’s recognition. Relief floods through me, almost buckling my knees.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice low but fierce. “You’re safe now.”
The fight rages on around us, but for a moment, it’s just the two of us. And that’s enough to keep me going.
I almost have Luna out of the chair. Her head lolls against my chest, her eyes fluttering but unfocused. She's unharmed—at least, I don’t see any visible injuries—but it’s clear she’s been drugged. Her body is limp, unable to hold itself up, and I tighten my arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, more for my own reassurance than hers. “I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t respond, just lets out a faint sigh as I help her rise. The weight of her against me fuels my determination to get her out of here, away from this nightmare.
Then I see him.
A man appears in the doorway, his gun raised, the barrel aimed directly at Luna. My breath catches, my body tensing as I realize I won’t have time to reach my own gun. Damn it. Without thinking, I pivot, putting myself between Luna and the weapon, bracing for the inevitable.
This is it.
The shot rings out.
I wait for the pain, the fire of a bullet tearing through me—but it never comes. Instead, there’s a loud thud. I snap my head up, heart hammering, to see the man lying motionless on the floor. Blood pools beneath him, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Standing over him is my father, his gun still in his hand.
He meets my gaze and gives a quick nod. “Get her out of here.”
Relief surges through me, but I don’t waste time replying. I tighten my grip on Luna, scooping her into my arms. She’s so light, too light, and the thought unsettles me more than I care to admit. Her cheek presses against my shoulder, and I feel her warm, shallow breaths against my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper again, more fiercely this time. “You’re safe now.”
As I step out of the room, chaos greets me—men shouting, the distant echoes of gunfire. But my eyes land on Liam, standing over Richard’s body. Blood stains his hands and clothes, but he looks calm, almost eerily so. He glances at me, then at Luna in my arms, and nods once.
“It’s done,” he says coldly. Then, louder, to the men around us: “Burn it. Everyone, clear out.”
The air smells of blood, gunpowder, and death, but I don’t care. It’s over.
Luna is safe.