Chapter 4 - The 911 Betrayal
The guards closed in like twin shadows.
The man on the left was massive, with a boxer’s flattened nose and cold, dead eyes. His jacket hung open just enough to reveal a Glock 19 nestled in a leather shoulder holster. The man on the right was younger, leaner, his hands twitching near his belt.
“Step back, sir,” the big one said, his voice flat. “Don't make this messy in front of the kid.”
My mind raced. Seventeen minutes. Clara’s lips were turning a faint, terrifying shade of blue. Her chest barely rose and fell. If they took her into that back lounge, she would never come out breathing. A discreet pillow over the face, a sudden injection of potassium chloride—Kane had a dozen ways to finish what Eleanor started.
“Lily,” I murmured without turning my head. “Hold on to Julianna’s dress. Don't let go.”
“Uncle Mark—”
“Do it, Lily.”
The little girl buried her face in Julianna’s white silk skirt. Julianna wrapped her arms around the child, her eyes wide with terror as she realized what I was about to do.
The big guard reached out a heavy hand to grab Clara’s shoulder.
I didn't wait.
I grabbed the heavy, solid silver ice bucket resting on the nearest pedestal table. Filled with twenty pounds of melting ice and champagne, it swung with devastating centrifugal force.
*CRACK.*
The solid silver base caught the big guard squarely on the jaw. Bone splintered. Blood and melted ice exploded across the linen tablecloth. The man collapsed like a felled redwood, hitting the marble with a hollow thud that echoed through the entire ballroom.
The second guard lunged, his hand reaching inside his jacket for his firearm.
I drove my shoulder into his sternum, slamming him backward into a pyramid of three hundred crystal champagne glasses.
The crash was deafening.
A mountain of glass shattered around us, tearing through his suit and slicing my forearms. The guard screamed as shards pierced his skin, his weapon tumbling from his fingers and sliding across the wet floor.
“RUN!” I roared.
The ballroom exploded into pure chaos. The sight of blood and drawn weapons broke the spell of fear paralyzing the guests. Women screamed, tripping over their gowns as they surged toward the locked main exits. Men shoved each other, pounding against the mahogany doors, desperate to escape what had clearly turned into an execution ground.
“Kane!” Eleanor screamed in hysterics, retreating behind the ruined dais. “Kill him! Do not let them take the girl!”
Kane pulled a small, silver .38 revolver from his own breast pocket, his aristocratic calm finally shattering into a snarling mask of desperation.
“Shoot the doors!” Kane ordered the remaining guards at the exit. “Keep them inside!”
Julianna didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lily with one arm and Clara’s limp shoulders with the other. “Mark! Help me! The kitchen doors!”
I scrambled through the broken glass, ignoring the white-hot pain slicing through my knees. I scooped Clara into my arms. She was terrifyingly light, her head lolling against my chest, her blood soaking through my white dress shirt.
Julianna shoved Lily ahead of her, kicking off her high heels and sprinting barefoot across the slick stone toward the double-swinging stainless steel doors of the commercial kitchen.
*BANG.*
A bullet ripped through the plaster pillar two inches above my head. Plaster dust rained down on Clara’s face. Kane was firing through the panicked crowd, his hand steady, his eyes locked on us.
“GET THROUGH!” I yelled, throwing my weight against the kitchen door.
We tumbled into the blinding, fluorescent glare of the industrial kitchen. Ten line cooks and prep chefs stood frozen over their cutting boards, staring in disbelief at the blood-drenched groom carrying an unconscious woman, flanked by a barefoot bride and a crying child.
“Out the back!” I barked at the head chef. “Evacuate! There are active shooters in the ballroom!”
The kitchen staff didn't ask questions. The thunder of gunshots in the dining room was answer enough. They bolted for the service exit, knocking over metal carts and pots of scalding sauce in their rush to survive.
Julianna slammed the heavy security latch on the kitchen doors, jamming a heavy steel broom handle through the push-bars.
*BANG! BANG!*
Heavy bodies slammed against the outside of the doors, rattling the steel frames. Kane’s men were already trying to breach.
“The elevator!” Julianna yelled, pointing toward the far corner behind the walk-in freezers. “The service lift! We have twelve minutes, Mark! Only twelve minutes!”
I looked down at Clara.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Just a millimeter. Her cracked, blood-stained lips moved.
May you like
“Mark...” she rasped, her voice a dying whisper lost beneath the thunder of the guards battering down the kitchen doors.
***
