Chapter 7 - Fire and Rain
The remaining two operatives came through the kitchen windows in a coordinated breach, flashbangs spinning across the tile floor.
“Down!” Mara shouted, tackling Julian to the floor as the flashbangs detonated with blinding white light and a deafening concussive roar that rattled the pots and pans from their racks.
Dominic, trained for decades in the violent underworld of New York, blinked through the retinal burn, dropping to one knee as the first operative charged through the smoke with a submachine gun raised.
Dominic fired twice. The man’s chest exploded in a crimson spray, and he collapsed heavily against the island.
The second operative swung his rifle toward Dominic, but before he could pull the trigger, a dark shape dropped from the top of the pantry shelving.
Mara landed directly on the operative’s shoulders, her legs locking around his neck with torque so violent it snapped his cervical vertebrae with a wet, sickening crunch. The man dropped like a stone.
Silence rushed back into the kitchen, heavier and more suffocating than before.
Julian Vance lay shivering on the floor among the shards of broken glass, weeping uncontrollably as the rain poured in through the shattered windows.
Dominic walked over to him, holstered his pistol, and looked down at the man who had tried to murder his family.
“Mason,” Dominic spoke into his collar comms.
A static-filled groan answered. “Boss... I’m... I’m up.”
“Get out of the lodge. Take the remaining security details from the armory, clear the front gates, and bring me a pair of heavy-duty zip ties.” Dominic paused, his eyes fixed on Julian. “And bring a shovel. The eastern garden needs some landscaping.”
Julian let out a high-pitched shriek of pure terror as Mason’s heavy boots echoed down the service corridor a minute later.
Dominic turned away, walking slowly toward the center of the kitchen where Mara stood wiping the rain and blood from her face.
She looked tired now. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the exhaustion of a woman who had carried a dead brother’s memory across continents just to find a measure of justice.
“It’s over,” Dominic said quietly.
“For tonight, yes,” Mara said, slipping her karambit back into her pocket. “Volkov will try again. Men like him don't stop because a few ghosts bite back.”
“Then we don't wait for him to try again,” Dominic said, his slate-gray eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, burning intensity. “We take the war to Brighton Beach. Starting tomorrow.”
May you like
Mara looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, for the first time since she had walked into Rourke House, a faint, genuine smile touched the corners of her mouth.
“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Rourke.”
