Chapter 7 - The Siege of EvanstonThe distant thrum of heavy-duty diesel engines echoed across the lakefront just seconds after Vance cut the feed.
"Mason!" Gabriel shouted without looking back.
"Already on it, boss!" Mason’s voice boomed from the security bunker down the hall. "Perimeter cameras show three armored SUVs blocking both access roads. Men are unloading with tactical gear and military-grade breaching charges. They aren't local cops or syndicate rivals—they’re private military contractors."
I stood up from the kitchen island, clutching the micro-SD card tightly in my bandaged hand. "Vance didn't just embezzle money. He’s liquidating the entire organization to fund a buyout with our biggest competitor. If they take this house, they wipe every trace of his crimes."
Gabriel walked over to the armory cabinet, pulling out a secondary tactical vest, a submachine gun, and two spare magazines. He didn't waste time arguing or telling me to hide. He knew as well as I did that there was nowhere left to run.
"Can you shoot?" Gabriel asked abruptly, sliding the tactical vest across the wooden table toward me.
I looked at the heavy Kevlar vest, then up at Gabriel. "I can balance a ledger under fire. I think I can pull a trigger."
Gabriel tossed a compact Glock 19 across the island. I caught it clumsily with my bandaged hand, the metal cold and heavy against my palm.
"Safety is here," Gabriel said, pointing swiftly to the side of the frame. "Aim for center mass. Don't hesitate."
Boom!
The front entrance of the safe house exploded inward in a shower of splintered oak and white-hot sparks. Flash-bang grenades rattled across the hardwood floor of the living room, filling the space with blinding white light and deafening concussive blasts.
"They're coming through the front!" Mason roared, opening fire from the hallway with relentless precision.
Gabriel grabbed my arm, pulling me behind the reinforced kitchen island just as a barrage of high-caliber rounds chewed through the drywall above our heads, raining plaster dust down onto our hair.
"Stay down!" Gabriel ordered, popping up over the counter and returning fire with three controlled shots that echoed like thunder in the enclosed space.
Through the haze of smoke and dust, I saw three heavily armored figures pouring through the shattered front doorway, their rifles raised. Eli’s room was just down the hall—if they breached the back corridor, the baby was directly in their line of fire.
"Not my baby," I whispered fiercely.
Before Gabriel could stop me, I slid around the opposite side of the counter, raised the Glock with both hands, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil slammed into my injured wrist, sending a sharp wave of agony up my arm, but the bullet struck home—the lead attacker stumbled back, hit in the shoulder plate, and dropped his weapon.
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He surged forward, taking out the second attacker with a clean shot to the chest, while Mason neutralized the third from the flank.
In less than thirty seconds, the living room fell silent, save for the hiss of a ruptured fire suppression pipe and the sound of our heavy breathing.
Gabriel rushed back to me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes frantically scanning my body for new injuries. "Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, his voice cracking with a raw panic I had never heard before. "I told you to stay down!"
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"They were going for Eli," I panted, looking him dead in the eye. "And like I said, Gabriel... I don't lose what matters."
Gabriel stared at me, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, his hands slid from my shoulders down to my waist, pulling me hard against his chest in a fierce, uncompromising embrace that made my broken ribs scream with pain—and I didn't care at all.
