Chapter 6 - The Siege of Lake Shore Drive
The clock on the mantelpiece in the penthouse living room chimed eight o'clock.
Clara sat on the long grey velvet sofa, looking out the massive glass windows at the dark waters of Lake Michigan. The city lights sparkled below like dropped jewels, but the luxury of the multi-million-dollar apartment offered her no comfort tonight.
Across the room, Miles stood near the private elevator doors, speaking into a radio headset in hushed, urgent tones.
"Understood," Miles spoke into his mic. "Keep two men on the street level. If Marcus spots any strange vehicles on the avenue, report directly to me."
He clicked off his headset and walked over to Clara, his heavy expression softening slightly. "Mrs. Raines, you should try to eat something. The chef prepared some chicken soup—"
"I'm not hungry, Miles," Clara said softly, her hands wrapped around a cold glass of water. She looked up at him. "Where is Dominic?"
Miles hesitated, looking down at his polished leather shoes. "He's... conducting business downtown."
"He's at the old docks, isn't he?" she pressed, standing up from the sofa. "He went looking for Harrow."
"Mr. Raines is taking the necessary precautions to secure the family's assets, ma'am," Miles replied diplomatically. "He strictly ordered me to remain here with you until he returns."
Suddenly, Miles’s radio headset emitted a burst of harsh, static-filled noise.
"Miles! Miles, do you copy?" Marcus’s panicked voice blasted through the speaker, loud enough for Clara to hear. "It's a decoy! The warehouse fire in the West Loop—it's empty! It’s a distraction! Harrow’s main crew isn't at the docks! They're headed toward the—"
The radio transmission cut off sharply into a loud squeal of static, followed by the dull, muffled sound of gunshots echoing through the line.
Miles froze, his eyes widening in horror. "Marcus! Marcus, come in!"
Nothing came through the radio except dead air.
"Miles... what's happening?" Clara gasped, taking a step back as her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
Before Miles could answer, the primary power in the penthouse abruptly cut out.
The bright chandelier, the floor lamps, and the ambient lighting vanished instantly, plunging the massive two-story apartment into pitch-black darkness. Seconds later, the dull, red glow of the emergency backup lighting clicked on, casting long, bloody shadows across the walls.
A loud, metallic clack-clack echoed from the private elevator shaft in the hallway.
"Get behind me!" Miles roared, drawing his heavy semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster and pushing Clara behind the thick marble kitchen island.
"The main power grid was cut from the basement," Miles whispered frantically, tapping his radio. "The elevator is running on secondary emergency power. Someone bypassed the lobby security override!"
The silver doors of the private elevator slid open with a soft hiss.
Four men clad in black tactical gear stepped out into the hallway, holding suppressed submachine guns. Behind them stepped Silas Harrow, holding his silver revolver, and a terrified Nolan Whitmore, who was clutching a master security tablet.
"Search the place!" Harrow barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Find the woman! Kill anyone who stands in your way!"
"Harrow!" Miles shouted from behind the kitchen island, firing two quick shots around the marble corner.
The heavy heavy-caliber rounds tore through the chest of the lead tactical shooter, driving him backward onto the polished marble floor with a bloody thud.
"Return fire!" Harrow screamed, ducking behind a velvet armchair.
The three remaining mercenaries opened fire with their submachine guns. A terrifying hail of bullets shredded the living room—shattering the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, pulverizing the plaster walls, and tearing the velvet sofa to shreds in a storm of feathers and broken glass.
Clara covered her ears, crouching low against the cold stone floor behind the island as dust and glass showered down upon her.
Miles returned fire courageously, taking out a second mercenary who tried to flank them near the dining table. But as Miles leaned out to take aim at the third man, Harrow stepped out from behind the pillar and fired his revolver twice.
BANG! BANG!
Miles gasped as two heavy rounds struck him in the shoulder and side. He fell backward onto the marble floor beside Clara, his weapon slipping from his blood-slicked fingers and skidding out of reach across the tiles.
"Miles!" Clara screamed, dropping to her knees beside him and pressing her hands against his bleeding chest.
"Mrs... Mrs. Raines... run..." Miles choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
A heavy boot stepped on Miles’s discarded gun, kicking it away into the darkness.
Clara looked up.
Silas Harrow stood over her, his gun smoking in his hand, his yellow-toothed smile wider than ever in the eerie red glow of the emergency lights. Behind him, Nolan Whitmore cowered near the elevator, staring at the blood on the floor with wide, terrified eyes.
"End of the line, Mrs. Raines," Harrow sneered, reaching down with his dirty hand to grab Clara by her throat and yank her up from the floor.
Clara gasped for air, her fingers clawing at his iron grip, but Harrow pulled her tightly against his chest, pressing the hot barrel of his revolver against her temple.
"Get on the radio, Whitmore!" Harrow ordered, turning toward the cowering developer. "Call Dominic Raines. Tell him if he wants to see his sweet little wife alive again, he comes to Pier 4 on the Calumet River. Alone. No cops, no guards."
Nolan’s hands shook so violently he nearly dropped his phone as he dialed the emergency contact number. "It's... it's ringing, Silas!"
Harrow grabbed the phone from Nolan’s hand and pressed it against Clara’s ear.
"Say hello to your husband, my dear," Harrow whispered monstrously into her ear. "Tell him it’s time to pay his father's debt."
Through the receiver, over the sound of wind and roaring engines, Dominic’s frantic, terrified voice burst through the line.
"Clara! Clara, are you there? My God, Clara!"
Clara closed her eyes, tears spilling down her dust-covered cheeks as the cold steel of the gun pressed into her skin.
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"Dominic..." she choked out, her voice trembling with love and terror. "Don't come... it's a trap... don't—"
Harrow yanked the phone away and slammed the barrel of his gun against the side of her head. Clara gasped as darkness swirled at the edges of her vision, and her world went black.
