Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty Three
Adrian
By the time I make it outside, I have taken out three more.
One in the upstairs hall near Caterina’s room. One at a back entrance trying to force a balcony door open from the outside. One in the mudroom with a radio in his hand.
Now I am crouched behind the low stone wall bordering Caterina’s garden, breathing through my teeth while my side screams at me.
The night air is cold against the sweat at my neck. My shirt is sticking to my skin, and the warmth beneath the bandage has spread enough that I know I am bleeding again. Not badly enough to stop. But badly enough that Teresa is going to lose her mind if she sees it.
If any of us live long enough for Teresa to lose her mind about anything, I will take it as a win.
The property feels wrong in the dark.
I know this house now. Every approach. Every camera. Every weak point. The front drive, the garden path, the old stone wall near the east side, the slope down toward the service road, the decorative hedges Caterina likes and I hate because they create too many pockets of shadow.
Tonight, every one of those shadows feels occupied.
I keep low and scan.
My people are scattered across a property I cannot see clearly, and I do not know who is alive, who is wounded, who is dead, or who is still engaged.
That is the part cutting hardest.
Not the wound or blood or screaming pain.
The unknown.
A muffled shot cracks somewhere near the rear patio.
Then another.
Someone is still fighting.
Good.
I move.
I need the main panel first. Get power back to the safe room feeds, give them eyes again.
Then the jammer.
No. Reverse that.
The jammer matters more for reinforcements, but I am closer to the panel, and the exterior junction sits along the west side, behind the utility enclosure. If I can restore even partial power, I can see. If I can see, I can find the jammer faster.
I cross the garden path in a low sprint that makes pain rip through my side so hard my vision sparks white at the edges. I catch myself against a stone planter and swallow a curse.
Not now.
A body lies near the hydrangeas, dead.
One of the attackers.
Past him, one of Nick’s security is slumped against the base of an ornamental tree, breathing shallowly, hand pressed to his thigh.
I don’t know him.
I move to him fast and crouch, weapon still up.
His eyes snap open, and his gun starts to lift.
“Friendly,” I say low.
He recognizes me after half a second and lowers it, jaw tight.
“How bad?”
“Leg,” he grits. “Arterial missed.”
“You mobile?”
His mouth twists. “Not fast.”
“Stay low. Anyone comes through that hedge who isn’t mine or yours, shoot them.”
“Copy.”
“How many came through here?”
“Four.” He swallows hard. “Two down. One went toward the garage. One toward the west utility.”
Must’ve been the one to cut the power.
“Stay alive,” I tell him.
“Trying.”
I move again.
The west side of the house is darker than usual. Someone killed the path lights. The backup strips along the exterior foundation are still faintly glowing, but not enough. The whole side of the property is all fractured shadows and wet grass and the smell of dirt kicked up by boots.
A shape moves ahead near the utility enclosure.
I drop behind the hedge before he sees me.
One man, weapon lowered.
Working fast at the panel.
He is not cutting blindly. He knows what he is looking at. He has the housing open, wires exposed, a compact tool in one hand.
This one is not just muscle.
I need him alive if possible.
I move in silence along the hedge, staying below the window line. My side throbs with every step. He shifts once, and I freeze.
He goes back to the panel.
Careless.
I close the last few feet, rise behind him, and hook one arm across his throat before he feels me. He jerks hard, tool clattering against the casing. His elbow drives back toward my ribs.
This time, he hits the wound.
Pain detonates.
For one second, my grip almost loosens.
I drive my knee into the back of his and take him down, keeping pressure on his throat while his boots scrape against the gravel. He reaches for his weapon. I trap his wrist and twist until something gives.
He chokes against my arm.
“Who sent you?” I ask in his ear.
He tries to slam his head back into my face.
I move enough that he catches cheekbone instead of nose. Still, stars flash behind my eyes.
Fine. Questions later.
I tighten the hold until his body goes slack.
I zip-tie his wrists with his own restraints, strip him of weapons, radio, blade, backup pistol at the ankle. Then I drag him behind the enclosure and turn to the panel.
A mess, but not random.
He killed the backup feed and rigged the relay to keep it from cycling. It’s not destroyed beyond repair. Just disabled.
I reach in and start undoing his work with one hand while keeping my gun close with the other.
The first wire reconnects.
Nothing.
Second.
The emergency indicator flickers.
Third.
The panel hums once, then dies again.
“Come on,” I mutter.
A sound comes behind me.
I turn, but not fast enough.
The attacker hits me low, driving me into the utility enclosure. Pain explodes through my side as metal bites into my back. My gun arm is pinned for half a second. He goes for my throat with one hand and my weapon with the other.
This one is trained. And strong.
I slam my forehead into his face.
He grunts but does not let go.
We hit the ground hard.
The impact tears through me. My vision grays at the edges, and for one dangerous second, the whole world threatens to go black. He uses it, rolling on top, knee driving toward my ribs.
I block it badly and too slowly.
His fist comes down. I catch it with my forearm, twist, and buck my hips enough to throw him off-center.
He reaches for a knife.
I catch his wrist with both hands.
The blade stops inches from my throat.
My side is on fire.
My strength is bleeding out faster than I want to admit.
His weight presses down. The knife comes closer.
Then his head snaps sideways.
Blood sprays across the gravel.
The pressure disappears.
I roll, dragging air into my lungs, and look up.
Vito stands a few feet away, gun up, expression stone cold.
Nico is beside him, weapon tracking the shadows beyond the enclosure.
For one second, I am too angry to speak.
Then I manage it.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
Vito lowers his weapon slightly. “Saving your ass, apparently.”
“I told you to stay in the room.”
“And I listened,” he snapped. “And then I said ‘fuck that’.”
Nico keeps scanning. “You’re welcome.”
I push myself up onto one knee and immediately regret it.
Pain slams through me hard enough that I have to brace a hand against the gravel.
Vito’s eyes drop to my side. “You’re bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
“You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I might.”
“You were losing that fight.”
“I had it.”
Nico huffs. “Sure.”
I glare at him.
A burst of gunfire sounds from the direction of the rear lawn. Unsuppressed now.
Someone is either out of caution or out of options.
We all turn toward it.
I stand fully, slower than I want, and use the utility box for balance before I can stop myself.
“Status,” Vito says.
“At least a dozen attackers,” I say. “Phones jammed. Main panel sabotaged. Backup disabled. I took down five, one technical here, unconscious behind the enclosure, and this one makes seven.” I nod toward the bodies.
“I saw a couple more around, which means there should only be a couple left. I left Andrew alive in the hall closet in bad shape. One of Nick’s people is alive near the garden, leg wound. Others unknown.”
Vito’s jaw tightens.
I look at Nico. “Andrew confirmed there’s a jammer van on the east service road.”
Nico nods once. “I’ll take it.”
“No,” I say automatically.
He gives me a look. “Don’t start.”
“That road is exposed.”
“I know the property.”
“So do I.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I can stand.”
“For now,” Vito says. “And someone needs to get the cameras back.”
I hate that he is right.
I glance toward the panel. “I can restore partial power from here if nothing else is cut downstream. That brings cameras back to the safe room and maybe the exterior grid. Once we have eyes, we can direct movement.”
Nico checks his magazine. “I’ll go east, find the van, kill the jammer.”
Vito steps closer. “What do you need from me?”
“Keep them away from the basement. Anyone moving inside the house goes down before they get near that door. Check the hall closet for Andrew and any more of our survivors.”
Vito nods and turns to go.
“Vito,” I say.
He stops and looks over his shoulder.
“I have one alive,” I say. “I might need another.”
“Can’t let a guy have any fun around here.” He shakes his head and walks off.
I give Nico a look that means “same.”
He grins and disappears into the hedges.
I turn back to the panel and force my fingers to work.