Chapter 17 - The Weight of BloodAdrenaline surged through my veins with the intensity of a tidal wave. In a fraction of a second, calculation replaced panic.
I didn't yell. I didn't hesitate.
I lunged forward through the smoke, tackling the mercenary mid-air just as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Crack! A bullet slammed harmlessly into the wooden floorboards.
We crashed hard onto the Persian rug, rolling over each other in a brutal, silent struggle for dominance. The mercenary was massive, his muscles corded with years of brutal military training. He drove his elbow straight down into my ribs, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
I gasped, but my grip on his tactical vest didn't loosen. I drew my concealed pistol with my free hand, pressed the barrel directly against his armored chest, and pulled the trigger twice.
Thud.
The man went limp, his weight collapsing heavily against my chest.
I shoved him off, coughing in the thick smoke, and scrambled to my feet. My suit was torn, my ribs burning with a dull, agonizing ache.
“Marco!” I shouted into the comms, rushing to the nursery door. “Status!”
“Clear in the hallway!” Marco’s voice panted back, sounding winded but alive. “We neutralized three at the stairs! Are the kids okay?”
“They’re safe,” I said, looking back into the nursery.
The smoke was beginning to clear through the automated ventilation system. The nannies were hugging the triplets tightly in the corner.
And Sophie was standing by the window, calmly brushing a speck of dust off her ugly button-eyed doll.
“Mr. Moretti,” Sophie looked up, her dark eyes reflecting the flickering emergency lights. “The man with the gold ring... he’s not on the phone anymore.”
I frowned, walking over to her. “What are you talking about?”
Sophie held out her doll. Embedded in the stuffing of the doll's torn seam was a small, blinking satellite receiver that was actively transmitting a live audio-video feed.
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On the tiny blinking screen attached to the doll's arm, a live message flashed in bright, bold text:
INTERCHANGE ACCEPTED. MEET US AT THE WAREHOUSE, ADRIEN. OR THE CHILDREN DIE IN FIVE MINUTES.
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