Chapter 4 - Shadows on the Atlantic
The monitors on the bunker wall flickered as the exterior motion sensors tripped one by one along the cliffside path.
On camera three, four figures clad in tactical drysuits emerged from the churning black surf of the Atlantic, scaling the jagged rocks beneath the estate’s east terrace with terrifying speed. They carried silenced submachine guns and breached charges.
“They’re moving through the drainage tunnel,” Mara said, her fingers flying across the console keyboard as she locked down the interior bulkheads. “It bypasses the main perimeter grid entirely. You mapped that tunnel when you bought the estate five years ago, didn't you?”
“Yes,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into its cold, dangerous register. “Only three men knew about it. Me, Mason, and Julian.”
“Well, you can cross Julian off the list of suspects,” Mara remarked dryly. “He’s probably sitting in a penthouse in Manhattan right now, drinking champagne and waiting for confirmation that you’re all in the ground.”
Dominic reached into his holster, pulling out an extra magazine and sliding it into his vest. He checked the slide of his pistol with a practiced, mechanical click.
“Stay here with the children,” Dominic ordered, his tone absolute.
Mara stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “You’re going out there alone? There are four trained operatives coming through that tunnel, plus whoever is waiting at the gates, and your primary security chief is currently unconscious in the lodge.”
“I’m not alone,” Dominic said, his eyes hard. “This is my house.”
“And I am not staying in a box while other people do my fighting,” Mara snapped, reaching into the deep inner pocket of her torn cardigan and pulling out a second, heavier blade—a combat karambit with a matte black ring handle. She slipped her index finger through the ring with a fluid, lethal familiarity. “If you step out that door without me, Mr. Rourke, I will lock you inside this bunker and handle them myself. Choose.”
Dominic looked at her. For the first time since the night began, he saw the truth beneath her quiet demeanor. She wasn't just a protector; she was a storm waiting to break.
“Fine,” Dominic said sharply. “Stay behind me on the stairs. If they breach the east gallery, we take them in the crossfire.”
They moved out of the bunker in absolute silence.
The residential wing was dark, save for the pale blue flashes of lightning illuminating the tall windows. The storm outside seemed to roar with a personal fury, beating against the glass as if trying to break inside and join the carnage.
Dominic led the way down the curved mahogany staircase, his boots making no sound on the runner. Mara followed three paces behind, her eyes scanning every shadow, her body balanced on the balls of her feet.
They reached the ground floor just as the heavy iron grille of the drainage intake at the end of the east gallery gave way with a muffled, tearing screech.
May you like
Clang.
A heavy boot hit the parquet floor.
