Chapter 5 - The Blood on the MarbleAdrenaline surged through Nolan’s veins, washing away years of fatigue and doubt.
Before the intruder could raise his weapon, Nolan lunged forward, using every ounce of his weight to slam the heavy silver candlestick directly into the gunman’s wrist.
Crack.
The pistol clattered against the marble floor, spinning away into the darkness.
The intruder let out a sharp, guttural curse and threw a brutal punch that caught Nolan square in the jaw. The impact sent Nolan staggering backward, tasting copper as blood filled his mouth. He crashed into a decorative antique vase, shattering it into a thousand ceramic pieces.
“You’re way out of your league, janitor,” the assassin hissed, drawing a combat knife from his belt with his uninjured hand.
From beneath the kitchen island, a muffled gasp escaped.
Nolan’s eyes darted toward the hidden alcove. Avery.
If this man found her, everything was over.
Fuming with a desperate, primal rage, Nolan didn't wait for the attacker to close the distance. He swept his foot out, catching the man’s ankle and sending him crashing hard onto the shattered ceramic fragments on the floor.
The intruder cried out as shards pierced his palms.
Nolan didn't hesitate. He lunged on top of him, pinning the man’s good arm to the ground and raining heavy, unrefined blows until the intruder’s eyes rolled back and he went completely limp.
Panting heavily, bleeding from his lip, Nolan collapsed off the man, staring up at the vaulted ceiling.
“Nolan?”
A small, trembling hand touched his sleeve.
Avery crawled out from beneath the island, her eyes wide with terror, tears streaming down her face. She looked at the unconscious gunman, then at Nolan’s bruised, bleeding face.
“Are you… are you dead?” she whispered.
Nolan forced a weak, lopsided smile, tasting blood.
“Not even close, monkey. I’ve had worse injuries fixing garbage disposals.”
Avery let out a half-sob, half-laugh, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his ruined suit jacket.
Suddenly, the front doors flew open with a deafening crash.
“Avery!”
Grant Vale rushed into the penthouse, flanked by four armed private security guards. Behind him stepped Victoria Vance, her face pale, her elegant evening gown slightly out of place.
Grant stopped dead in his tracks.
He stared at the unconscious gunman on the floor, the shattered vase, the blood on the marble, and then at Nolan holding his trembling daughter.
Grant’s face turned the color of ash.
“What… the hell… happened here?” Grant whispered, his voice trembling with a rage that could level mountains.
Before Nolan could answer, Victoria stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously toward the gunman.
“Mr. Vale,” Victoria said, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts. “It’s obvious. The new hire… he staged an intrusion. He’s a criminal plant. Look at the damage. He tried to kidnap your daughter.”
Nolan’s eyes snapped up to meet Victoria’s.
The trap had snapped shut.
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Victoria had planned this all along. If the assassin succeeded, Avery was eliminated. If the assassin failed, Nolan took the fall as a rogue intruder.
Grant looked down at Nolan, then at Victoria, his eyes dark, dangerous, and utterly unreadable.
