Chapter 11 - The Line in the Sand|
The bedroom door was violently kicked open, splintering the heavy wooden frame into jagged pieces.
A tall, masked mercenary in wet combat gear stepped into the room, his assault rifle raised and sweeping the shadows.
He spotted me standing beside the closet, holding the heavy iron poker with white-knuckled desperation.
"Step aside, girl," the man grunted, his voice muffled by a black balaclava.
"We only want the Moretti kid."
"You'll have to kill me first," I heard myself say, a fierce courage rising from a place I didn't know existed.
The mercenary laughed beneath his mask and stepped forward, swinging the butt of his heavy rifle toward my head.
I ducked to the side, feeling the rush of air graze my hair, and swung the heavy iron poker with all my strength.
The metal struck his armored shoulder with a dull, heavy thud, knocking him off balance.
He cursed violently, spinning around and slamming his fist directly into my ribs.
A sharp, agonizing pain exploded through my chest, forcing the air completely out of my lungs as I crashed to the floor.
Before I could scramble back up, the man kicked the poker out of my reach, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor.
He pulled a combat knife from his tactical belt and lunged toward the closet door where Ava was hiding.
"No!" I screamed, throwing myself forward and grabbing onto his ankle with both hands.
The mercenary stumbled, crashing down onto the floor beside me.
He rolled over in pure fury, slashing the blade across my upper arm as he tried to break free from my grip.
The searing heat of the blade cut through my uniform, warm blood soaking through the white fabric immediately.
Despite the blinding agony, I refused to let go, digging my nails into his heavy combat boots.
"Die, you stupid maid!" he snarled, raising the knife to strike down at my neck.
A thunderous gunshot shattered the bedroom air.
The mercenary froze, his eyes widening behind the mask, before collapsing face-first onto the rug with a heavy thud.
Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain and covered in gunsmoke, was Luca Moretti.
His black shirt was torn, his knuckles bloody, and his smoking sidearm was leveled with pinpoint precision.
Behind him, two Moretti loyalists dragged away the remaining threats in the corridor.
Luca dropped his weapon and fell to his knees beside me, his large hands immediately pressing against the bleeding wound on my arm.
"Rachel!" his voice broke, raw with an agony and fear I had never heard from him before.
"Look at me, Rachel, stay with me!"
"Ava..." I gasped, fighting against the gray darkness creeping into the edges of my vision.
"Ava is safe in the room... they didn't touch her..."
"You saved her," Luca choked out, his hands trembling as he lifted my head into his lap.
"You held the line for my daughter."
The steel door of the panic room swung open, and Ava burst out, throwing her arms around my neck and sobbing uncontrollably.
"Miss Rachel! Miss Rachel, please don't sleep!"
Luca looked at his daughter, then looked down at my pale, bleeding face, tears shining in his dark eyes.
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"I've got you, Rachel," Luca whispered fiercely against my ear.
"I will never let anyone hurt you again."
