Chapter 6 - The Ghost of Project ChimeraBefore Vance’s men could squeeze their triggers, Holly moved with a speed that defied human limits.
She dropped into a low slide across the hardwood floor, kicking the legs out from under the first operative while simultaneously drawing her sidearm and firing two precise shots into the chest of the second. The third gunman swung his barrel toward her, but a heavy mahogany chair came hurtling through the air—thrown by Weston with crushing force—crashing into the mercenary and sending him crashing through the library railing into the foyer below.
Vance’s face contorted in shock. "What the hell is she?!"
"She's my employee," Weston snarled, firing two rounds that forced Vance to dive behind a marble pillar for cover.
Bullets chewed through the bookshelves, sending centuries-old leather-bound volumes raining down in a storm of paper and dust. The library had become a war zone.
"Weston!" Holly shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire, ducking behind the massive oak desk beside him. "Vance didn't come here to kill you—he came to wipe the mainframe! If they download the offshore encryption keys, your entire syndicate network goes public to federal regulators in twenty minutes!"
"Then we stop them from downloading," Weston replied coldly, checking his ammunition clip with practiced ease.
"We can't just shoot our way out," Holly said, her eyes flashing with tactical brilliance. "There are twenty more operatives securing the perimeter, and the east wing nursery is right below us. Mary is sleeping down there."
Hearing his daughter’s name broke something inside Weston. All the cold calculation, all the ruthless mafia dominance—it instantly dissolved into primal, protective fury.
"Tristan," Weston hissed, grabbing his bleeding brother by the collar and shoving him toward a concealed panic-room panel behind the fireplace. "Get down to the east wing. Secure Mary in the vault. If you let a single hair on her head get touched, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth before I kill you myself."
Tristan, pale and terrified, nodded frantically and scrambled into the dark recess of the sliding wall.
Weston turned back to Holly, his eyes burning with an intense, unspoken understanding.
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"You've been holding back," Weston noted, watching the way she handled her weapon with the precision of a black-ops specialist. "Why?"
"Because in Seattle, I swore I'd never kill again unless I had no choice," Holly said softly, pulling a second concealed magazine from her boot and snapping it into place with a sharp click. "Looks like my probation just expired."
