Chapter 8 - The Siege of Oak Ridge
The rain began to fall again, heavy and relentless, as if mirroring the dark cloud sweeping over the estate.
"How far out are they?" I demanded, grabbing Harrison by his lapels and pulling him to his feet.
"Ten minutes!" Harrison sobbed. "Maybe less! He has three armored SUVs and a dozen heavily armed men! Rowan, you have to run!"
"I'm not running," I said coldly.
I turned to Marcus. "Activate the estate's lockdown protocol. Steel security shutters on all windows and doors. Call the state police tactical unit—tell them we have an active armed assault on a private residence."
"State police response time in this rural area is fifteen minutes at best," Marcus warned, his hands already flying across his tactical radio. "My team can hold the main perimeter, but if they have heavy firepower, they will breach the courtyard."
"Then we hold the interior," I said, my voice hardening like iron. "No one gets up those stairs."
I ran back upstairs to the master wing. Maren was standing near the cribs, clutching a heavy brass candlestick, her face pale but her stance resolute.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"Julian Whitmore is desperate," I said quickly, pulling the heavy steel security shutter control near the door. Heavy, reinforced metal plates slid down over the master bedroom windows with a loud, mechanical thud, sealing the room off from the outside world. "He’s coming here himself. But this room is a safe room. The doors and window shutters are bulletproof."
Maren looked at me, horror filling her eyes. "Rowan, no... don't go down there!"
"I have to," I said, checking the magazine of my firearm. "I allowed this monster into our lives, Maren. I let his family ruin us. I am ending this tonight."
Maren stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing my arm. Her grip was surprisingly tight. "Rowan... please. Don't die."
I looked down at her hands on my arm, then up into her eyes. For the first time in a year, I saw genuine concern—not just for the father of her children, but for me.
"I won't," I promised. I leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Maren. I never stopped."
Before she could answer, the sound of glass shattering and heavy gunfire echoed from the floor below.
I stepped out of the room, locked the heavy steel door behind me, and pocketed the master key.
Downstairs, the grand foyer had turned into a war zone. Searchlights flashed through the shattered front windows as Julian’s mercenaries attempted to force their way through the entrance. Marcus and his security team were firing from behind the marble pillars, suppressing the breach with disciplined precision.
I took position at the top of the grand staircase, providing covering fire as two mercenaries attempted to flank Marcus's position. My shots were accurate, driven by a cold, lethal focus. Every round I fired was for Maren, for Leo, for Ethan, and for Clara.
"Rowan!" Marcus shouted over the deafening roar of gunfire. "They brought a breaching vehicle! They’re coming through the side patio!"
The heavy oak patio doors exploded inward under the force of a battering ram. Three mercenaries in tactical gear rushed into the living room, clearing space for a frail figure walking slowly behind them, assisted by a personal bodyguard holding an oxygen tank.
Julian Whitmore stepped into the light of the burning hearth.
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He was wearing a heavy winter coat over his hospital clothes, his face pale as death, his eyes burning with the unhinged madness of a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to lose.
"Rowan!" Julian’s voice cracked through the chaotic room, amplified by a megaphone. "Give me the child! Give me the girl, and I will let you and your pathetic mistress walk away! Refuse, and I will burn this entire estate to the ground with all of you inside!"
