Chapter 15: The Light and the Dark
Both men went down, their heavy boots skidding across the hardwood. I didn't wait to see if they were getting back up. I dropped the empty magazine, slammed the spare into the grip, and racked the slide as I sprinted toward the basement door, placing my own body between the threat and the women below.
The corridor fell eerily silent, save for the howling wind and rain pouring through the shattered front entrance.
Footsteps echoed from the foyer. Slow. Deliberate. Arrogant.
A man stepped into the hallway. He wasn't wearing tactical gear. He wore a dark, expensive trench coat, his hair slicked back against the rain. He held a silver, suppressed pistol by his side. Even in the dim light, the cruel, sharp angles of his face were unmistakable.
Silas Vance. He had come to watch the execution himself.
"Isabella Rossi," Silas said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "I must admit, Richard painted you as a fragile bird in a cage. But look at you. A regular Joan of Arc."
"Get out of my house, Silas," I said, keeping the Glock aimed squarely at his chest.
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "You took something of mine, Isabella. The blonde girl. She's a liability, and I don't leave liabilities breathing. Step aside. You've had your fun playing savior, but the real world is here now."
"You think this is a game?" I asked, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You think you're the real world? You're just a parasite feeding on broken people. Richard thought the same thing, and now he's rotting in a box."
Silas raised his weapon. "Richard was a fool who left a paper trail. I just leave bodies."
Before he could pull the trigger, I reached behind me with my free hand and slammed my fist into the emergency fire alarm panel on the wall.
The lodge erupted into utter chaos. Piercing, deafening sirens screamed from every corner of the ceiling, accompanied by blinding, flashing strobe lights designed to disorient in heavy smoke.
Silas flinched, blinded by the sudden, aggressive flashes of light, his shot going wide and shattering a mirror down the hall.
I didn't hesitate. I closed the distance in two seconds, using the strobe lights as cover. I didn't shoot him—I wanted him to face the very system he thought he was above. I swung the heavy steel frame of my gun directly into his wrist. The bone snapped with a sickening crunch, and his silver pistol clattered to the floor.
Before he could react, I drove my knee into his abdomen, grabbed the lapels of his expensive coat, and slammed him face-first into the heavy steel door of the basement. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, utterly defeated by the "fragile bird."
I stood over him, my chest heaving, the Glock pointed at his head.
Through the deafening wail of the fire alarms, a new sound cut through the night.
Thwack-thwack-thwack.
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The heavy, rhythmic beating of helicopter rotors. Flashing red and blue lights flooded the shattered windows, painting the lodge in the colors of the law. Agent Davies and his tactical team had arrived.
"We don't bury bodies in the dark anymore, Silas," I whispered, looking down at the broken man. "We drag them into the light."
