Chapter 4 - The Beast’s Vow
Within an hour, the estate's top tactical team was assembled in the underground armory. Weapon racks clicked open as suppressors, body armor, and heavy caliber rifles were loaded.
Holden sat in his private study, watching Chloe through a glass wall. She was finally sleeping, her tiny stomach full of warm broth, her small hand firmly hooked into Phantom’s collar. The dog had refused to leave the room even to eat, guarding the child like a dragon over its treasure.
Marcus walked in, tossing a heavy file onto the desk. "We verified the location Chloe described. 'The dark place under the water' refers to an abandoned Cold War submarine pen beneath the Old Port harbor. It’s owned by a shell company tied directly to Dimitri Volkov."
"How many men?" Holden asked, racking the slide of his custom matte-black pistol.
"At least forty heavy mercenaries," Marcus replied grimly. "Automated turrets, thermal sensors, and kill-switches wired to the structural supports. If Volkov realizes we're breaching, he’ll blow the entire facility into the bay, burying everyone inside."
"Then we don't breach like an army," Holden said, his eyes turning to icy glass. "We breach like ghosts."
Suddenly, the lights across the entire estate flickered once, twice, and plunged into absolute pitch blackness. Red emergency back-up lights flashed on a second later, accompanied by the high-pitched wail of perimeter intrusion alarms.
"Report!" Marcus shouted into his radio.
"Boss! We've got multiple breaches at Gate Three and the conservatories!" a guard’s frantic voice exploded over the comms. "It’s Volkov’s elite strike team! They used EMP charges on our outer grid!"
Holden didn't waste a second. He didn't care about the estate or the operational plans. His only thought was the third-floor bedroom.
He sprinted through the darkened hallways, drawing his sidearm as gunfire shattered the stained-glass windows of the grand foyer below. Screams, heavy boots, and automatic weapon blasts echoed through the mansion. Volkov hadn't waited for Holden to strike—he had sent his professional assassins to eliminate Chloe before she could reveal his location.
Holden hit the third-floor landing just as three masked mercenaries dressed in night-vision tactical gear kicked open the door to Chloe's suite.
"Clear!" one mercenary yelled, raising his suppressed rifle.
Before the shooter could squeeze the trigger, a black shadow erupted from the darkness inside the room.
Phantom launched his 130-pound body through the air like a lethal cannonball, his jaws locking around the first mercenary’s throat with bone-crushing force. The man screamed as he slammed hard onto the hardwood floor, his rifle clattering away.
Holden raised his pistol, firing two rapid shots into the chest of the second attacker. The third turned, bringing his shotgun up, but Holden closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing the barrel, twisting it violently until the killer’s wrist snapped, and driving a tactical blade directly up beneath his helmet.
The corridor fell deathly silent, save for the heavy panting of the killer hound.
Holden rushed inside the room. Chloe was huddled in the corner beneath a desk, hands covering her ears, shaking violently.
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Holden picked her up with one arm, wrapping his heavy Kevlar jacket around her, while Phantom stood at their heels, his muzzle covered in enemy blood, his eyes glowing red in the emergency lights.
"I’ve got you, Chloe," Holden whispered into her hair, holding her tight against his chest as his men secured the hallway. "They made the last mistake of their lives."
