Chapter 6 - The Glass House Defended
"KANE!" Nathan’s voice echoed across the frozen valley like a cannon shot.
Marcus spun around, his face twisted in a snarl. "Stay back, Pierce! I'm taking my kids! They're mine! The court will never give them to a rich snob like you!"
"You abandoned them in a storm! You tried to kill my sister!" Nathan roared, stepping onto the stone terrace.
Inside the glass house, Rosa appeared behind the reinforced sliding glass door, her eyes wide with terror. She immediately pulled the heavy motorized security shutters down, the thick aluminum slats locking into place with a heavy metallic clack, sealing the children inside safely.
Marcus realized his path inside was cut off. Furious, he turned on Nathan, raising the long hunting knife. "Then I'll just finish you first!"
Marcus lunged forward, the blade flashing in the cold sunlight.
Nathan didn't retreat. Years of surgical training gave him incredible hand-eye coordination and lightning-fast reflexes under pressure. As Marcus struck downward, Nathan stepped inside the blow, grabbing Marcus's wrist with both hands and twisting it outward with all his strength.
The knife tumbled into the snow.
Marcus growled, using his heavier weight to tackle Nathan to the stone terrace floor. They wrestled on the icy ground, gasping for air. Marcus pinned Nathan down, his heavy hands reaching for Nathan's throat, pressing his thumb against Nathan’s windpipe.
Nathan’s vision began to spot with dark patches. His lungs burned for air. He reached out blindly with his right hand, his fingers sweeping through the snow at the edge of the terrace until they slammed into something solid—the heavy brass fire-flare launcher he had slipped into his coat pocket earlier.
With the last of his strength, Nathan raised the heavy metal tube and slammed it hard against the side of Marcus’s head.
Marcus groaned, his grip loosening as he slumped sideways. Nathan shoved the large man off him, scrambling backward onto his feet, gasping for air, the flare launcher raised and aimed directly at Marcus's chest.
"Move," Nathan choked out, his chest heaving, "and I swear to God I'll pull this trigger."
Marcus lay in the snow, bleeding from a cut above his eye, glaring up at Nathan with pure hatred. But as he looked into Nathan's eyes, he saw no hesitation—only the cold, unwavering resolve of a man protecting his own.
Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of roaring engines and wailing sirens.
Two heavy sheriff department snowplows and three all-terrain police vehicles burst through the main iron gates of the estate, tearing up the driveway. Chief Miller and four armed deputies sprinted onto the terrace, weapons drawn.
"Don't move, Kane! Hands behind your back!" Chief Miller yelled.
Within seconds, Marcus was rolled onto his stomach, handcuffed, and hauled to his feet. He spat at the ground, but the deputies dragged him away toward a waiting police cruiser.
Chief Miller walked over to Nathan, offering him a hand up. "Dr. Pierce, are you alright?"
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"I'm fine," Nathan panted, handing the flare launcher to the chief. "My sister... she's in the snowcat down the trail with Ray. She needs an immediate airlift to the trauma center."
"Helicopter's already en route," Miller replied, pointing toward the sky. High above the mountain peaks, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a medical evacuation helicopter broke through the morning stillness.
