My eyes snap open. I shoot up from the bed, the heavy Glock instantly rising in my hands, my elbows locking straight.
The overhead emergency strip lighting flickers violently, the blue-white glow stuttering before completely dying out. The bunker is plunged into pitch-black darkness for three terrifying seconds. I gasp, my heart executing a painful, bruising leap against my ribs, the claustrophobia instantly clawing at my throat.
Then, a harsh, blaring alarm begins to wail.
It is a deafening, rhythmic klaxon that completely overwhelms the senses. Simultaneously, the vault is flooded with a pulsating, blood-red emergency light. The crimson flashes cast long, demonic shadows across the polished concrete, turning the sterile room into a vision of hell.
Someone has cut the main power grid to the compound. The bunker has switched to its internal generators, but the security protocols have been triggered.
I back away from the bed, my bare feet sliding silently over the concrete, retreating toward the only cover in the room—the heavy marble island of the bathroom vanity. I drop into a crouch behind it, resting my forearms on the cold stone, the suppressed barrel of the Glock aimed dead center at the main steel doors.
“If it is not me... you shoot to kill.”
The mechanical groan intensifies. It is coming from the elevator shaft.
The heavy gears are grinding, forcing the car down into the subterranean levels. The sound is agonizingly slow, a creeping, metallic screech that winds the tension in my chest so tight I feel like my ribs are going to crack.
Someone is coming down.
Thayer has the biometrics. Thayer wouldn't trigger the alarm. Thayer would have called the intercom to tell me it was him.
The Capos. The Commission. The assassins.
A cold, paralyzing sweat breaks out across my forehead. My mouth is entirely dry, tasting of copper and ash. The violent trembling returns to my arms, making the heavy barrel of the gun sway erratically in the red flashing light.
No,I command myself, biting down on my lip so hard I taste fresh blood.Stop shaking. Stop being the victim. He gave you the power. Use it.
I force myself to take a deep, jagged breath. I adjust my grip on the gun, pulling the slide back a fraction of an inch to verify the brass casing of the chambered round, just to be absolutely certain. The metallicclickof the slide snapping back into place is swallowed by the blaring klaxon.
I slide my index finger down, resting it gently against the curve of the trigger.
The grinding noise from the shaft abruptly stops. The elevator car has reached the bottom.
A heavy, suffocating silence descends over the bunker, broken only by the rhythmic, deafening wail of the alarm. I hold my breath, my lungs burning, my eyes locked onto the glowing red biometric panel next to the door.
For ten agonizing seconds, nothing happens.
Then, the red light on the panel violently flickers. The system emits a sharp, electronic squeal, like a computer code being violently corrupted. Sparks shower from the panel, completely short-circuiting the lock.
They aren't using a keycard. They are hacking the override.
The massive pneumatic seals hiss loudly, releasing the pressurized air locking the vault. The heavy steel doors shudder.
Slowly, with a horrific, metallic groan, the doors begin to slide apart.
Thick, gray smoke pours into the bunker from the elevator shaft, catching the flashing red emergency lights, creating a blinding, impenetrable wall of crimson fog. The smell of cordite and burning electrical wire floods my senses, making my eyes water and my throat burn.
I tighten my finger on the trigger, taking up the slack. The resistance of the metal is heavy, unforgiving.
A dark, massive silhouette steps out of the smoke.
The figure is tall, broad-shouldered, moving with a heavy, predatory limp. In his right hand, he holds a massive, matte-black assault rifle, the barrel lowered toward the floor.
I don't wait to see his face. I don't wait for him to raise the weapon. I remember the dead eyes of the assassin in the bedroom. I remember my father's betrayal. I remember that in this world, hesitation equals death.
"Stop right there!" I scream, my voice completely shredding my throat, echoing wildly over the blaring alarm.
The figure freezes instantly.
