Chapter 11 - Blood on the Shattered Marble
The darkness in the private dining salon was deafening before the gunfire even began.
Shards of crystal from the pulverized chandelier rained down like razor-sharp hail.
A bullet tore through the antique wainscoting inches above my head.
The smell of cordite, burnt sulfur, and spilled wine choked the enclosed room.
Ethan’s heavy arm swept around my waist, dragging me violently beneath the massive teak dining table.
"Stay down!" Ethan roared over the sudden cacophony of shouting men and splintering wood.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the pitch-black room in strobing, violent bursts of white and yellow.
Julian Sterling was screaming curses into the dark, firing blindly toward the doorway.
Across the room, Marcus Vance returned fire with three disciplined, double-tap bursts from his tactical sidearm.
A body hit the hardwood floor with a wet, heavy thud.
Someone groaned in agony, clutching a shattered limb among the broken porcelain.
Harrison Cole’s voice cut through the chaos, harsh and commanding even in the middle of a bloodbath.
"Cease fire! Cease fire, you fools!"
Victor Sterling didn't care about orders.
"Kill them both!" Victor shrieked from near the catering entrance.
"Kill Ethan and burn the manifests!"
Ethan didn't wait for his father or the Sterlings to regroup.
He drew a secondary weapon from an ankle holster beneath his trouser leg, pressing it into my trembling hands.
It was a compact, matte-black automatic with cold textured grips.
"Safety is off," Ethan whispered into my ear, his breath hot against my cheek.
"If anyone touches you except me or Marcus, you pull that trigger until it clicks."
"Ethan, Lily—" I choked out, tears of terror burning my eyes.
"We're getting to her," he promised, his gray eyes burning through the shadows with unearthly ferocity.
"Marcus! Front door suppression! Now!"
Marcus moved like an avalanche of lethal force.
He hurled a blinding flash-bang grenade into the center of the dining salon.
"Close your eyes!" Ethan shouted, shielding my face with his jacket.
A concussive bang rattled the walls, followed by an explosion of white light that turned the room into a furnace of sound.
Men wailed in pain, disoriented and blinded by the tactical burst.
Ethan hauled me to my feet in one explosive movement.
He held his Glock in front of him, firing two precise rounds into the ceiling to force the blinded guards back against the walls.
We surged through the double doors into the hotel's service corridor.
The carpeted hallway was already filled with running hotel security and terrified staff screaming in panic.
Blood was dripping down Ethan’s left temple where a stray piece of chandelier crystal had sliced through his skin.
He didn't wipe it away.
He didn't slow down.
We sprinted down the emergency stairwell, our footsteps echoing like thunder against the concrete walls.
Marcus slammed open the steel exit door leading into the rainy alleyway behind the St. Regis.
The black armored Maybach was idling on the wet asphalt, exhaust billowing in thick white plumes into the freezing November night.
Two of Ethan’s private drivers were standing by the open doors with submachine guns held ready against their chests.
Ethan threw me into the back seat and vaulted in after me, slamming the armored door shut.
"Floor it!" Ethan shouted to the driver before the door had even fully locked.
The heavy sedan launched forward, tires shrieking against the wet pavement, throwing us back against the leather seats.
The car fishtailed onto Fifth Avenue, spraying sheets of standing rainwater over the curb.
Ethan immediately grabbed a satellite radio receiver from the central console.
His hands were stained with blood and gunpowder, but his voice was chillingly calm.
"Echo Base, this is Cole Actual," Ethan spoke into the mic, every syllable coated in ice.
"Report status on the west wing."
Static hissed through the speaker for three agonizing seconds.
Then, a panicked, gasping voice broke through the line over the distant sound of automatic weapons fire.
"Boss... south perimeter is overrun..."
"They hit us with two armored SUVs and tactical breaching charges..."
"We have three men down at the fountain..."
"Where is Lily?" Ethan roared, the calm vanishing into feral desperation.
"Mrs. Gable got her into the vault room behind the north library, sir!"
"They're burning the lower floor to smoke them out!"
"We can't hold the gate for more than ten minutes!"
The line went dead with a high-pitched whine of radio interference.
Ethan hurled the receiver against the floorboards, shattering the casing.
He turned his gaze toward the dark, rain-streaked window, his chest heaving like a wounded beast.
"Victor planned this before we ever sat down at that table," Ethan whispered, the words tearing from his throat.
"He used the dinner as an anvil to keep me in Manhattan while he dropped the hammer on my home."
I reached out through the dark and grabbed his arm, digging my fingers into his wet suit jacket.
"Ethan, look at me," I commanded, forcing my own voice not to shake.
He turned his head, his gray eyes wild and haunted by the memory of another family he had failed to save.
"We are going to get Lily," I said, holding his gaze with absolute certainty.
"You gave me your word that you protect what is yours."
"Well, she is yours."
"And I am not letting those animals take that little girl."
Ethan stared at me, the dark despair in his expression hardening into something terrifyingly sharp.
He reached down, picked up two extra ammunition magazines from the door compartment, and slid them into his belt.
May you like
"Forty miles to Westchester," Ethan said to the driver, his voice devoid of all humanity.
"Break every law in this state."
