Chapter 7 - THE GUARDIAN IN THE DARK
The room descended into utter chaos.
Through the thick, swirling white smoke, a shadow moved with terrifying, blinding speed.
Damian Cole hadn't stayed in New York City. Knowing that Volkov was a wounded predator capable of reckless desperation, Damian had arrived at the Lake Placid estate two hours before the blizzard hit, staying in the secondary guest cabin at the edge of the woods to oversee the security upgrades personally.
Damian moved through the smoke like a creature born of darkness.
He disarmed the first Russian mercenary before the man could pull his trigger, twisting the assault rifle out of his grip and dropping him to the floor with a swift, crushing strike to the temple.
The second mercenary fired wildly into the smoke, but Damian was already gone, reappearing behind him, driving the heel of his palm into the man's chest, sending him crashing through a wooden coffee table.
"Clear the room! Get the kid!" the strike leader screamed, backing toward the shattered kitchen door while firing blind bursts into the haze.
Damian stepped out of the shadows right beside the strike leader, grabbing the barrel of his weapon and forcing it toward the stone chimney as a volley of rounds buried themselves harmlessly into the masonry.
Damian drove a short, powerful hook into the leader's ribs, followed by a sweeping kick that brought the heavy man crashing down onto the hardwood floor.
Within ninety seconds, all six Russian mercenaries lay unconscious or disarmed on the floor of the living room, their weapons rendered useless.
Marco and three additional Cole guards burst through the front entrance, their weapons raised, securing the perimeter and checking the unconscious men.
Damian stood in the center of the room, his breath slow and controlled, his black wool sweater completely dust-covered from the smoke. He didn't have a single scratch on him.
He turned toward the leather sofa, where Ray was slowly lifting his head, gasping for air, clutching Marisol tightly in his arms.
Marisol peeked out from behind her father's shoulder. Her face was pale, but when she saw Damian standing over them, her dark eyes filled with absolute relief.
Damian walked over, kneeling down on one knee in front of the little girl.
"Are you hurt, Marisol?" Damian asked softly, his voice smooth and steady despite the chaos that had just unfolded.
Marisol shook her head quickly. She reached out her small hand, opening her palm to reveal the brass pocket watch, completely unharmed.
"I kept it safe," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Just like I promised."
Damian reached out, his big, rough hand gently resting on top of her head, smoothing down her hair.
"You did good, kiddo," Damian smiled softly. "Now it's my turn to finish this once and for all."
Damian stood up, his face instantly returning to that cold, terrifying stillness that made grown men tremble. He turned to Marco, who was busy tying the hands of the strike leader with heavy zip-ties.
"Get the cars ready, Marco," Damian ordered flatly. "We are driving back to Brooklyn tonight."
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"In this storm, Damian?" Marco asked, startled. "The mountain roads are almost impassable!"
"I don't care if the sky falls, Marco," Damian said, his voice dropping into a register that chilled the blood of every man in the room. "Nikolai Volkov just tried to put his hands on my family. By tomorrow morning, the Volkov organization ceases to exist."
