Chapter 10
Sterling stared at the beautiful woman before him. She possessed a profound, quiet courage that completely eclipsed the shallow, venomous nature of the elites he normally dealt with. She was willing to run into a gunfight for a child who was not her blood.
"Are you willing to follow my exact orders if I take you with me?" Sterling asked, his cold eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire.
"Yes," Delia promised without hesitation.
"Shall we go get my son?" Sterling asked.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed her hand, his warm, tattooed fingers wrapping securely around her delicate wrist, and pulled her out of the study into the chaotic, flashing hallway.
The bright, luminous colors of the mansion were gone, replaced by the chaotic strobe of emergency lights and the deafening, rhythmic staccato of heavy gunfire echoing from the eastern wing. The smell of cordite and burning wood filled the air.
Sterling moved with absolute, predatory grace. He kept Delia tucked safely behind his powerful shoulders, his weapon raised, his observant eyes sweeping every corner and gilded mirror for threats. They navigated the marble corridors, the sound of combat growing louder with every step.
As they reached the heavy oak doors separating the main house from the family wing, a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the estate.
The shockwave threw them both against the carved walnut paneling. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. The heavy oak doors were blown entirely off their hinges in a blinding flash of orange fire.
"Are you injured?" Sterling shouted over the ringing in their ears, pulling Delia back to her feet.
"I'm okay!" Delia gasped, coughing through the thick smoke.
Through the ruined doorway, the bright tactical lights of three heavily armed mercenaries pierced the darkness. They were moving aggressively down the corridor, aiming their assault rifles directly at the door to Peter’s nursery.
"Did you forget whose house you entered?" Sterling asked the empty air.
He stepped out from cover, pulling Delia tightly against his side. The roar of his weapon was deafening in the enclosed space. The first mercenary collapsed backward, his chest armor shattered. The second man spun wildly, his weapon firing blindly into the cascading crystal chandeliers before he hit the marble floor.
The third assassin panicked, scrambling toward the heavy walnut doors to escape the absolute slaughter.
"Are you running so soon?" Sterling asked, rising to his full height.
He aimed and fired a single, decisive shot. The third man crumpled in the doorway, his body wedging the heavy doors open.
The hallway fell into a terrifying, ringing silence. The warm golden light flickered as a damaged chandelier swayed precariously above. The smell of cordite and shattered roses filled the air.
Sterling did not lower his weapon. He kept his extremely short stubble and sharply defined jawline locked in a mask of lethal focus, his eyes scanning the corridor outside for further threats.
"Is everyone unharmed?" Sterling asked quietly, walking slowly toward the center of the room.
Delia rushed forward and threw open the nursery door. Peter was huddled under his bed, crying softly but unharmed. She pulled him into her arms, burying her face in his neck.
May you like
Sterling stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He watched the two people who mattered most to him, knowing the war was far from over, but absolutely certain of what he was fighting for.
"Shall we retreat to the bunker until the perimeter is cleared?" Sterling asked, his deep voice a steady, unbreakable anchor in the violent storm that had finally begun.
