Chapter 5 - Fire in the SkyThe heavy oak double doors of the safe suite didn't just open—they exploded inward in a hail of splinters and white-hot shrapnel.
"Get down!" Garrett roared, tackling Mave to the floor just as a volley of high-velocity 9mm rounds chewed through the velvet sofa where she had been standing a second before.
Plaster dust and fiberglass rained down from the ceiling as smoke billowed into the room. In the adjoining bedroom, Dr. Vance screamed, followed immediately by the terrified, piercing shriek of little Posie.
"Stay here! Do not move!" Garrett barked, rolling off Mave and drawing his weapon in one fluid motion.
He didn't wait for her answer. He scrambled across the floor, pressing his back against the shattered frame of the doorway. Through the drifting haze of smoke, three men in tactical black gear and balaclavas stepped out of the private elevator shaft, their suppressors leveled at chest height. Bratva enforcers. Elite clean-up crew.
Garrett didn't hesitate. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three rapid shots in less than two seconds. The lead enforcer took a round through the throat and dropped like a stone; the second caught one in the shoulder, spinning him into the glass partition. The third dived behind the marble wet bar, returning fire with a burst that chipped the masonry inches above Garrett’s head.
"Boss!"
A second voice shouted from the corridor behind the elevator. Mateo came barreling down the hall, his tactical vest smoking, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead, holding an MP5 submachine gun. He emptied a full thirty-round magazine into the wet bar, shredding the marble and silencing the remaining gunman with a wet thud.
"Clear!" Mateo wheezed, coughing from the cordite smoke as he leaned against the doorframe, checking his clip with shaking hands. "They bypassed the security grid using a military-grade decoder. Somebody inside the syndicate sold us out, Boss. Somebody gave them the access codes."
Garrett didn't waste time on corporate paranoia. He spun around and rushed back into the suite.
Mave was already on her feet, clutching a sobbing Posie tightly against her chest, her face pale as marble. Dr. Vance was trembling beside them, clutching a medical bag like a shield.
"Are you hit?" Garrett demanded, his hands gripping Mave’s shoulders, checking her over with frantic, desperate eyes.
"We're fine! We're fine!" she gasped, her voice shaking violently as she buried her face in the baby's neck. "Garrett, they're here for her, aren't they? They know..."
"They aren't getting anywhere near her," Garrett said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, absolute stillness that preceded a storm. He looked at Mateo. "Get the armored chopper on the roof. Not the elevator—the emergency stairs. The entire building is compromised."
"Boss, the roof is locked down by the Ashford vanguard," Mateo warned grimly, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ruined rug. "Old man Ashford must have anticipated a siege. His men have taken the helicopter pad on the fifty-fifth floor."
May you like
Garrett stared at him for a fraction of a second, a dark, reckless grin touching the corners of his mouth—the smile of a man who had nothing left to lose because his entire world had just been handed to him in a pair of winter-gray eyes.
"Then we’re taking the service elevator down to the underground garage," Garrett said, pulling Mave toward the private hallway. "And God help anyone who gets in our way."
