Chapter 26 - The Abduction at Midnight
The dining hall erupted into absolute chaos.
A flashbang grenade detonated against the stone floor, producing a blinding white flash and a deafening shockwave that sent Margaret crashing to the flagstones with her hands over her ears, screaming in agony.
Genevieve moved with terrifying, preternatural speed. The instant the glass shattered, she didn't panic; she pivoted, snatched the velvet bassinet containing baby Grace with her left arm, and raised her pistol toward the silhouette breaching the window.
Through the curtain of smoke, Ryan Vance charged into the hall.
His overcoat was shredded, his face streaked with soot and blood from crashing his car through the estate’s outer perimeter gate. In his hands, his Sig Sauer leveled directly at Genevieve’s chest.
“Drop the baby!” Ryan roared, his voice cutting through the ringing smoke like a foghorn. “Drop her, or I will end you where you stand!”
Genevieve didn't hesitate. Instead of firing at Ryan, she pulled Grace’s bassinet directly in front of her chest, using the infant as an impenetrable human shield. Her cold blue eyes met Ryan’s through the swirling smoke, completely devoid of fear.
“Shoot, little brother,” Genevieve purred, backing toward a narrow wooden door concealed behind a wall tapestry. “Take the shot. Let’s see if your aim is as perfect as your moral superiority.”
Ryan’s finger trembled on the trigger. His heart violently contracted. He could put a bullet through a two-inch target at twenty-five yards, but with Grace’s tiny body inches from Genevieve’s torso, he couldn't risk the ricochet off the heavy stone walls.
“Ryan! Don't shoot!” Emily screamed from the chair, coughing through the acrid smoke. “She has Grace!”
That split second of hesitation was all Genevieve needed. She fired two rapid rounds into the antique chandelier above Ryan’s head. The massive iron fixture, holding fifty lit wax candles, tore free from the ceiling and crashed down with crushing force.
Ryan threw himself to the side, rolling across the stone floor as tons of iron and shattering crystal pulverized the spot where he had been standing. Burning wax and splintered metal showered the room.
By the time Ryan scrambled to his feet through the debris, the tapestry was swaying, and the hidden door behind it was already locked from the other side with a heavy iron bolt.
“Genevieve!” Ryan roared, slamming his shoulder against the oak door. It didn't budge; it was three inches of reinforced ironwood built into the mountain rock.
“Ryan! The straps! Cut me loose!” Emily cried out.
Ryan spun around. Margaret was crawling on her hands and knees across the floor toward an antique fireplace poker, her face twisted in a mixture of blind panic and murderous humiliation.
“You ruined everything!” Margaret shrieked, lunging toward Emily with the heavy iron poker raised high. “If I don't get the Vance fortune, no one does!”
Ryan didn't pause. He closed the distance in two strides, his boot connecting solidly with Margaret’s ribs. The matriarch let out a sickening wheeze and collapsed against the foot of the dining table, the iron poker clattering harmlessly away across the stone.
Ryan pulled a tactical combat knife from his belt and sliced through Emily’s leather restraints in two swift strokes.
The moment Emily was free, she didn't cry, she didn't collapse into his arms. She grabbed Ryan’s lapels, her eyes blazing with an unholy maternal fury.
“She took her through the mountain tunnel!” Emily gasped, pointing at the hidden door. “While they were waiting for you, Genevieve bragged about an underground tramway beneath the cellar—it leads to a private helipad on the north cliff! Ryan, she’s going to fly Grace out of the country!”
Margaret groaned from the floor, coughing up blood, looking up at Ryan with wild, unhinged eyes. “You fool… you stupid boy… she’s going to kill your baby… she’s going to take everything Charles built…”
Ryan looked down at his mother with pure, unadulterated disgust.
“You built this monster, Margaret,” Ryan said, his voice freezing the air between them. “Now lie here and watch your legacy burn.”
Ryan handed Emily a spare pistol from his tactical belt. “Can you run?”
May you like
Emily racked the slide with steady, ruthless precision. “Try and stop me.”
***
