Chapter 7 - The Breach
"Lock down the estate," I ordered, the relaxed father instantly vanishing, replaced by the lethal CEO who had crushed corporate empires. "Drop the steel shutters. Move Cassandra and the twins to the panic room immediately. I want armed guards at every entry point."
"Yes, sir," Thorne replied, hitting the emergency alarm.
A low, pulsing red light activated in the hallways, accompanied by the mechanical hum of heavy ballistic shutters sliding down over the floor-to-ceiling windows. I sprinted back to the living room. Cassandra was already on her feet, clutching Violet to her chest while holding Luke's hand. Her eyes were wide with panic.
"Damon, what’s happening?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"It’s Marcus," I said, grabbing her free hand and pulling them toward the basement stairwell. "He found us. We are going to the safe room. Thorne has already called the FBI tactical teams, but they are twenty minutes away."
We reached the subterranean level. The panic room was an impenetrable titanium vault designed to withstand a military assault. I ushered them inside. The room was stocked with emergency supplies, secure communication lines, and a bank of monitors displaying every security camera on the property.
"You stay in here," I commanded, cupping Cassandra's face. "Do not open this door for anyone but me or Thorne."
"Where are you going?" she cried, grabbing my flannel shirt. "Damon, don't leave us!"
"I have to help Thorne secure the perimeter," I said, my voice dropping to a fierce, protective whisper. "Marcus came here to hurt me. I am not letting him anywhere near you. I love you."
I kissed her hard, stepped back, and hit the heavy steel button. The vault door hissed shut, locking with a definitive, massive clack.
I ran back upstairs, drawing a heavy Sig Sauer from the biometric safe in my study. The house was eerily silent, bathed in the dim red glow of the emergency lights. Thorne and three elite contractors were stationed in the grand foyer, their assault rifles raised toward the front doors.
Suddenly, the security monitors in the hallway flickered and died.
"He cut the hardlines," Thorne said, his jaw clenched. "He knows the system, boss. He helped install the original upgrades."
Before I could answer, a massive, deafening explosion rocked the west wing of the house. The floorboards violently shook, and the smell of smoke and burning timber flooded the air.
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"He blew the kitchen service entrance!" Thorne shouted. "Move! Move!"
Marcus wasn't trying to negotiate. He was a cornered, desperate animal with absolutely nothing to lose, and he was bringing the entire house down around us.
