Chapter 6 - The Rhythm of War
Before Vance could reach the parlor, the glass windows behind the Steinway shattered.
A flashbang grenade detonated in the center of the room, filling the space with a blinding white light and a deafening roar. To anyone else, the blast would be disorienting; to Marin, who relied entirely on her hearing, it was physical agony. She gasped, dropping to the floor, her ears ringing with a painful, high-pitched scream.
"Marin!"
Through the ringing, she heard August’s voice.
He didn't wait for his men. He had burst through the shattered window himself, his submachine gun roaring as he laid down suppressive fire.
The parlor became a warzone. Julian Dupré screamed as he scrambled for cover beneath a heavy oak desk. Vance’s men returned fire, their heavy-caliber rounds tearing through the plaster walls and the priceless antique paintings.
August reached Marin, sliding onto the floor beside her. He pulled her into his chest, shielding her head with his hands as wood splinters and plaster rained down upon them.
"I've got you," he growled, his heart slamming against his ribs like a wild animal. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you come."
"The... the window," Marin gasped, pointing blindly. "There’s a terrace... we can go through the gardens."
"Reed!" August yelled over the gunfire. "Cover the rear!"
"Go, boss!" Reed shouted back, firing from behind a fallen marble column.
August lifted Marin into his arms, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain that flared in his chest. His heart was failing him, the intense stress and physical exertion pushing his congenital defect to its absolute limit. He stumbled, his knees buckling for a fraction of a second, but he forced himself up through sheer, terrifying willpower.
He carried her out into the humid air of the gardens, the rain finally beginning to fall in heavy, warm sheets.
They ran through the maze of manicured hedges, the gunfire fading behind them. But August’s breathing was becoming shallower, more ragged.
"August," Marin cried, feeling the trembling in his arms. "Put me down. You can't carry me."
"I am... not leaving you," he gasped, his voice tight with agony.
Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the darkness of the hedge maze.
May you like
Victor Vance stood there, a cruel smile stretching across his scarred face. He held a silver revolver, pointed directly at August’s chest.
"End of the line, Rail," Vance sneered. "Your heart doesn't look like it’s going to make it to the hospital anyway. Let me help you speed up the process."
