Chapter 5 - Breaking PointA heavy, military-grade smoke canister landed right in the center of the kitchen floor, hissing violently and billowing thick, choking grey clouds across the room.
“Get down!” Emily screamed, lunging across the island and tackling me to the floor just as a hail of silenced gunfire ripped through the kitchen walls, chewing up the drywall and shattering the ceramic tiles above our heads.
Coughing violently through the smoke, I scrambled to my feet, dragging Emily behind the heavy oak dining table.
“How did they find us so fast?” I yelled over the din of shattering glass and heavy boots stomping through the front hallway.
“The attaché case!” Emily cried, her face smudged with soot. “There was a tracking beacon embedded in the leather lining! You brought it out of the safe, and it transmitted our coordinates the second the lock opened!”
My blood ran cold. I had walked right into a trap of my own making.
Heavy footsteps echoed into the kitchen. Two men in tactical black gear, their faces obscured by ski masks and night-vision goggles, stepped through the shattered French doors. Each carried a suppressed submachine gun, sweeping the room with lethal efficiency.
“Secure the woman,” a deep, grating voice commanded from the hallway. “Leave the civilian. He’s of no use to us.”
The lead enforcer advanced toward us, his rifle barrel pointing straight at my chest.
Instinct overrode fear. As the man stepped close enough to clear the edge of the dining table, I lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of his weapon and shoving it upward just as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet punched a hole through the ceiling.
With a roar of adrenaline, I slammed my shoulder into his chest, sending him crashing backward into the kitchen island. He scrambled to recover, but Emily was faster—she snatched a heavy cast-iron skillet from the counter and brought it down with savage force across the back of his helmet, dropping him like a stone.
“Move!” Emily yelled, grabbing my hand with a grip like iron. “Through the cellar doors—now!”
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We didn't hesitate. We bolted down the basement stairs just as the second enforcer opened fire, chewing up the wooden doorframe behind us.
We slammed the heavy cellar door shut, threw the deadbolt into place, and sprinted out into the damp, cool embrace of the Seattle twilight, our breaths coming in ragged gasps as we ran toward the safety of the woods bordering our property.
