Chapter 5 - The Siege
"Get the children to the panic room!" Adrian ordered, his voice instantly dropping its emotional weight and turning into cold steel.
"They're already secured in the basement, sir!" Marcus yelled over the sound of gunfire echoing from the front driveway. "But they brought heavy equipment! They've cut the main power lines and jammed our comms!"
Emma panicked. "Lily! Noah!"
"Go to them, Emma!" Adrian commanded, pushing his wheelchair hard toward the concealed panel behind his bookshelf. "Marcus, give her a radio and guard that basement door with your life!"
"What about you, boss?" Marcus asked.
"I’m staying here," Adrian said, pulling a heavy black sidearm from a hidden drawer in his desk. "Vance came for me. He won't leave until he gets what he wants."
"Adrian, no!" Emma cried, grabbing his arm. "You can't fight them like this!"
Adrian looked down at his feet, then up at Emma. "For eight years, I let fear keep me in this chair. I let grief turn me into a ghost. But my daughter is in this house. You are in this house. I am not letting him take my family twice."
Emma looked into his eyes and saw no longer a broken man, but a roaring fire. She nodded, kissed his cheek impulsively, and ran toward the basement stairs guarded by Marcus's men.
Outside, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion were blown inward with a deafening BOOM.
Glass shattered, smoke poured into the grand foyer, and six armed mercenaries in tactical gear poured into the house, led by Victor Vance himself. Vance wore a tailored suit, holding a silenced pistol, a smug smile plastered across his face.
"Adrian!" Vance’s voice boomed through the house. "Come out, come out, old friend! Let’s talk about the old days! Let’s talk about Caroline!"
In the upstairs study, Adrian listened to the footsteps echoing on the marble floor below. His pulse hammered in his ears. His hands were steady as he checked the magazine of his pistol.
Move, he told his legs. Move, damn you!
Downstairs, Vance walked slowly up the grand staircase, his boots heavy on the velvet carpet. "I heard a funny story, Adrian. I heard you've been playing house with a cheap maid and her bastard kid. I came to clear the clutter for you."
Vance reached the top of the stairs and kicked open the door to the study.
The room was dark, lit only by the red glow of the emergency lights. Adrian was sitting in his wheelchair at the center of the room, holding his pistol down at his side.
"Victor," Adrian said calmly.
Vance chuckled, walking into the room, his gun aimed directly at Adrian’s chest. "Look at you. The great Wolf of the West Coast, rotting in a rolling chair. You know, I was the one who ordered the hit eight years ago. I wanted your territory. But you just wouldn't die! You just sat here, playing the martyr."
"You killed my wife," Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"And I'm going to kill that little girl upstairs," Vance sneered, taking a step closer. "She has Caroline's eyes, you know. It's sickening."
A fury, hotter and brighter than anything Adrian had ever known, exploded in his chest. It surged through his spine, down his hips, through his thighs, and straight into his feet.
Not again.
Vance raised his gun to pull the trigger.
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Before Vance’s finger could squeeze, Adrian did the impossible.
He stood up.
