Chapter 4 - The Defense of the SuiteThe sound of shattering wood and heavy footsteps echoed through the penthouse like a cannon blast.
"Ava!" Marco's voice bellowed from the main hallway, followed instantly by the deafening, rapid TAT-TAT-TAT of submachine-gun fire echoing off the marble walls.
Shouts, glass breaking, and heavy bodies slamming against furniture transformed the quiet, luxurious penthouse into a war zone within three seconds.
I didn't scream. I didn't freeze.
The terrifying, paralyzing fear that had controlled my life for three years vanished, replaced by a primal, blinding instinct to protect my babies. I lunged across the nursery, scooped Maya out of her crib with my left arm, held Lily tight against my chest with my right, and backed into the reinforced walk-in closet behind the changing station.
I slammed the heavy solid-wood closet door shut, pulling the brass lock lever down into place.
Outside the closet, the gunfire was deafening. The sharp, high-pitched crack of 9mm pistols mixed with the heavy, rhythmic thud of Marco's automatic rifle.
"Clear the left corridor!" Marco shouted, his voice hoarse. "Don't let them near the nursery! Hold the line!"
A heavy body slammed violently against the outside of the nursery door. Wood splintered. A man let out a wet, strangled shriek before falling still.
I dropped to my knees on the carpeted closet floor, my body curled over my twin daughters, taking the entire weight of the physical world on my back just as I had done beneath the freezing overpass four nights ago. Maya began to wail, her tiny cries muffled against my fleece robe, while Lily squirmed frantically against my ribs.
"Shh... shh... Mommy's here," I sobbed into their soft hair, tears blinding my vision as I pressed my body harder over them. "Mommy's got you... I won't let him touch you... I won't let him take you..."
The gunfire outside slowly began to die down, replaced by the frantic sound of boots running across shattered glass.
Then came a heavy, metallic click directly outside the nursery door.
"Ava!" a harsh, familiar voice bellowed.
Marcus.
He was inside the nursery. I could hear his heavy, wet breathing through the wooden closet door, the squeak of his leather boots stepping over the carpet.
"Come out, Ava!" Marcus shouted, his voice laced with manic, frantic desperation. "The police are five minutes away! Elias's men are down! You're coming home with me right now!"
He rattled the brass handle of the closet door.
CLANK. CLANK.
"Locked," Marcus spat. "You think a bedroom lock is going to stop me?!"
I heard him step back. I knew what was coming. He was going to kick the door in. He was going to drag me out by my hair, tear my babies from my arms, and take us back to the hell I had barely escaped.
I looked around the dark closet frantically. On the shelf beside me sat a heavy, solid-brass decorative bookend that Elias's staff had left near the top shelf.
I set my babies gently on a pile of soft cashmere blankets in the rear corner of the closet, shielding them with a heavy wool coat.
I reached up, my fingers wrapping around the cold, five-pound brass bookend. I pulled it down, gripping it with both hands, my knuckles white, my jaw set like granite.
BOOM!
Marcus's boot slammed into the center of the closet door. The wood cracked near the frame.
BOOM!
The brass latch tore free from the wall, and the heavy door swung violently inward.
Marcus stood in the doorway, a silver revolver in his right hand, his face flushed red, sweat pouring down his forehead, his suit jacket torn. When his eyes landed on me standing in the center of the dark closet, he let out a vicious, triumphant sneer.
"There you are, you ungrateful bitch," Marcus spat, stepping into the closet, reaching out his left hand to grab my hair. "Get your coat. We're—"
I didn't wait for him to finish.
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I swung the five-pound solid-brass bookend with every single ounce of strength left in my battered body, driving the sharp, heavy corner straight into the side of Marcus's jaw.
CRACK!
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