Chapter 6 - THE SILENT GASPanic instantly rippled through the mercenaries. The two operatives standing by the window dropped to their knees, their heavy assault rifles clattering against the marble floor as their limbs went completely limp. They struggled to lift their hands to their helmets, but their muscles refused to obey, their eyes rolling back as they slumped unconscious against the bookshelves.
Harrison Kincaid dropped his glass of scotch, the amber liquid splattering across his polished shoes as he staggered backward, grabbing the edge of the desk for support. His face turned an ashen gray, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
"You... you madman," Kincaid choked out, his knees buckling beneath him. "You're... you're breathing it too!"
"I took the antitoxic inoculation twenty minutes before the ceremony started, Harrison," Julian replied smoothly, walking around the desk with the steady, unhurried grace of a apex predator. He reached down, scooped up the heavy metal-reinforced titanium briefcase that Marcus Vance had brought, and set it on the desk. "Unlike you, I don't trust anyone on my wedding day. Not my bride, not my wedding planner, and certainly not uninvited guests."
Kincaid collapsed hard onto the Persian rug, his fingers clawing vainly at the fibers as the heavy neuro-paralytic gas finished its work, freezing his nervous system into complete paralysis while leaving his mind fully, agonizingly conscious. He could see, he could hear, but he couldn't move a single muscle.
Julian walked over to the wall console, punched in a four-digit override code, and the room's ventilation system kicked into high gear, venting the heavy gas out through the roof exhausts while pumping fresh, cool mountain air back into the study.
Chloe peeked out from behind Julian’s legs, her big eyes wide with wonder. "Is the bad man sleeping, Daddy?"
"He's taking a very long nap, sweetheart," Julian said gently, picking her up and carrying her over to the leather armchair by the fireplace. He handed her a fresh sketchbook and a box of colored pencils. "Why don't you draw a picture of your new puppy? Daddy has some business to finish with our guest."
Marcus Vance stepped back into the study from the adjoining hallway, wearing a high-tech respirator mask that he now pulled down around his neck. He looked down at the paralyzed Kincaid with a look of clinical detachment.
"Impressive tactical execution, Mr. Sterling," Marcus noted, pulling a pair of heavy-duty zip-ties from his jacket pocket and efficiently securing Kincaid’s wrists behind his back. "The local authorities have finally breached the perimeter gates. Federal agents and state troopers are sweeping the grounds as we speak."
Just as Marcus spoke, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. But it wasn't the local police.
It was Evelyn.
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She had somehow slipped away from the transport van, her wedding dress caked in mud, her hair wild and tangled, holding a heavy steel fire poker she had grabbed from the downstairs corridor. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and burning with pure, unadulterated murderous insanity.
"You ruined everything!" Evelyn shrieked, bursting through the shattered French doors, swinging the heavy iron poker directly toward Julian’s head.
