Chapter 5 - The Traitor’s Gambit
The air in the vent turned ice cold. Hearing Damon defend me with such raw, unadulterated fury sent a wave of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Kirill laughed—a dry, grating sound that filled the study. "Always protective of your little stray. It's a pity she's going to watch you die."
Kirill clicked the safety off his pistol.
I didn't think. I acted.
I reached for the heavy iron fire poker resting inside the vent maintenance hatch beside me. With all my strength, I kicked the decorative brass grate out of the wall. It shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening crash, sending dust and debris flying into the room.
The distraction was instant. Both tactical guards snapped their weapons toward the fireplace.
Damon didn't waste a millisecond.
Despite his torn ribs, he lunged across the mahogany desk like a striking shadow. His hand slammed into Kirill’s wrist, driving the gun upward just as a silenced shot cracked through the air, shattering the crystal chandelier above.
I scrambled out of the vent, gripping the heavy iron poker.
One of the tactical guards turned toward me, raising his rifle. I swung the iron rod with all the momentum of my body, striking him hard across the side of his tactical helmet. The metal clanged loudly, knocking him off balance into the bookshelf.
"Alina! Get down!" Damon bellowed.
He disarmed Kirill with a brutal twist of his arm, cracked his elbow into the traitor's jaw, and seized Kirill's weapon mid-air. In a flash of lethal precision, Damon fired two rapid shots, neutralizing the second guard before he could bring his rifle to bear.
Kirill hit the floor, bleeding from his mouth, staring up at Damon in sheer horror.
"You... you were dying three hours ago," Kirill gasped, clutching his broken jaw.
"I heal fast when people annoy me," Damon growled, his face a terrifying mask of rage. He stood over Kirill, the gun pointed straight between the traitor's eyes.
"Damon, wait!" I called out, stepping forward, the heavy poker lowering to my side.
Damon's gray eyes flicked to me, softening for a fraction of a second as he checked me for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I breathed, my chest heaving. "But he said Ivan Vane is coming. How many men?"
Kirill spat blood onto the rug, grinning viciously. "A full convoy. They're at the estate gates right now. You can kill me, Volkov, but you can't stop thirty armed mercenaries."
Damon didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger once, ending Kirill's laughter forever.
Silence descended upon the study, broken only by the heavy thrum of the storm outside and the distant sound of squealing tires down near the main entrance gates.
Damon turned to me, tossing the empty gun onto the desk and reaching into his drawer to pull out two sleek black weapons and tactical belts. He strapped one around his waist and turned to face me, his gray eyes burning with dark intensity.
"It seems your quiet life as a maid is officially over, Romanov," he said softly, handing me a lightweight 9mm handgun.
May you like
I took the weapon, feeling its heavy, cool steel in my hands. I looked up into his fierce face and smiled.
"Good," I said softly. "I was getting tired of cleaning."
