Chapter 2 - Blood on the MarbleBefore Marco could raise his submachine gun, I fired through the broken window frame.
The heavy 9mm bullet caught Marco directly in the throat. He collapsed backward against the marble wall, his weapon clattering harmlessly onto the floor.
"Move!" I shouted to Hunter, grabbing her arm and pulling her down the narrow exterior servant stairs that wound down the side of the mansion toward the underground garage.
Behind us, automatic gunfire erupted, tearing through the stone balustrades and showering us with concrete dust.
Hunter didn't scream. She didn't drop Leo. She tucked her body over my son, shielding him with her own flesh as we sprinted down the steps.
"Can you drive stick?" I barked as we burst through the heavy steel doors into the subterranean garage.
"Yes!" Hunter gasped, her face pale, her breathing ragged.
I pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner of my matte-black armored SUV. The heavy doors unlocked with a heavy thud. I shoved Hunter into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and rounded the bumper just as Julian's remaining three mercenaries reached the garage entrance.
I fired three quick shots, forcing them to dive behind a concrete pillar.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I slammed the vehicle into reverse, stomped on the accelerator, and smashed backward through the garage's security gate. The heavy iron bars tore away like toothpicks, glass and metal scattering across the driveway as we rocketed out into the dark, rain-slicked Long Island night.
Beside me, the heart monitor clipped to Leo’s ankle chimed softly.
His heart rate was steady. His breathing was deep and calm.
I glanced sideways. Hunter was sitting in the leather seat, her uniform re-buttoned, gently burping my son over her shoulder. The baby let out a small, wet belch, resting his dark-haired head against her neck, fast asleep.
For two months, my son had done nothing but scream in agony. Now, he was sleeping peacefully against the chest of a woman I had known for less than an hour.
"Where are we going?" Hunter asked, her voice trembling as she looked at the blood on my knuckles.
"Somewhere nobody knows exists," I said, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "A safehouse in upstate New York."
I looked at her through the rearview mirror—her dark, haunted eyes, the bruised smudge near her hairline where her abusive ex-boyfriend had struck her weeks ago, and the quiet, fierce strength in her posture.
"What's your name?" I asked quietly.
May you like
"Hunter," she whispered, her thumb stroking Leo's soft cheek. "Hunter Higgins."
"You saved my son’s life tonight, Hunter," I said, my voice heavy with an emotion I hadn't felt since my wife died. "And until every man involved in this is dead, you and I are not letting him out of our sight."
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