Chapter 6 - The Secret Ledger
While Marcus deployed our tactical enforcers to the perimeter positions around the cabin, I walked back upstairs to ensure the girls were secure.
The bedroom was dark, save for the soft blue glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall outlet. Lily was curled on her side, her breathing steady and deep, while Rose clutched a small stuffed bear I had found in the closet.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching them. They were innocent, fragile creatures caught in the crossfire of monsters. Protecting them wasn't just a tactical necessity; it was a sacred duty. They were Mara’s blood. They were my family now.
I slipped Mara’s silver flash drive into my inner pocket, secured the leather ledger in a locked steel briefcase, and walked back down to the ground floor.
The cabin was dead silent, save for the low hum of the generator and the crackle of the fireplace.
Marcus met me by the front mudroom, his rifle slung across his chest, his breath pluming in the cool air near the door.
"Perimeter is set, Boss," Marcus whispered. "We let them pass the outer ridge so we don't trigger an early warning. They think the cabin is empty and vulnerable. They’re moving in through the rear tree line."
"Good," I replied, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. "I want them inside the kill zone before we drop the hammer. I want to know who gave the direct order."
We took positions in the shadows of the spacious living room, looking out through the reinforced, bulletproof glass windows that Mara had insisted we install years ago when my enemies first started trying to reach me through my personal life.
Out in the blinding white swirl of the blizzard, dark, bulky figures emerged from the tree line behind the cabin. They moved with military precision, wearing white camouflage gear over tactical armor, their suppressed carbines raised and scanning the clearing.
Leading the team was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his left jawline—Viktor Thorne, Julian Vance’s chief enforcer and personal executioner.
Thorne signaled to his men, and two of them stepped forward with heavy hydraulic breaching tools. They clearly expected an old wooden door to give way easily under pressure.
I watched through the glass, a cold, grim smile touching the corner of my lips.
Clang!
The breaching tool slammed into the reinforced oak kitchen door. The sound echoed like thunder through the cabin.
Thorne cursed under his breath as the door held firm, barely splintering.
"Use the thermal charge," Thorne hissed in a sharp whisper that our exterior directional mics picked up loud and clear.
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Before the operative could plant the explosive charge against the wood, I stepped out from the shadows of the living room and tapped the master security switch on the wall.
Click.
