Chapter 8
The heavy glass doors shattered, raining expensive crystal fragments onto the polished floor of the Sterling estate. Beckett kicked the remaining frame inward, his broad shoulders cutting a terrifying silhouette against the stark, modern lighting of the foyer. His enforcers flooded in behind him, securing the ground floor with brutal efficiency.
Arthur Sterling, a wealthy man in his fifties wearing a silk dressing gown, rushed out of a nearby study, his face pale with terror.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Sterling shouted, holding his hands up defensively as three assault rifles were trained on his chest. "You are trespassing on private property! I will have you all arrested!"
Beckett slowly holstered his weapon, walking toward the trembling magnate with a slow, predatory grace. The artistic tattoos on his hands were starkly visible under the bright lights.
"Where is the child, Sterling?" Beckett asked, his deep, measured voice echoing ominously in the high-ceilinged room.
Sterling’s eyes darted nervously. "I don't know what you are talking about. There are no children here. My wife and I live alone."
Beckett did not yell. He closed the distance in two massive strides, grabbing Sterling by the lapels of his silk gown and slamming him violently against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the breath out of the older man.
"Do you honestly believe I would breach your gates, destroy your property, and stand in your foyer if I did not have absolute proof that you purchased my son from a traitor?" Beckett asked softly, his face inches from Sterling's terrified eyes.
"Your son?" Sterling gasped, genuinely shocked. "Clarissa said... she said it was an untraceable orphan. A girl from the slums who couldn't afford it. She said the paperwork was legal!"
"Clarissa lied," Beckett stated coldly, pressing his forearm against Sterling's throat. "And you are currently in possession of the heir to the Vale syndicate. I will ask you one last time before I allow my men to dismantle this house around you. Where is he?"
"Upstairs!" Sterling choked out, tears of panic spilling over his cheeks. "The nursery! East wing, last door on the right! My wife is with him!"
Beckett released him, letting the man collapse onto the floor, gasping for air. He turned his head and looked out the shattered front doors toward the armored SUV.
"Ella!" Beckett yelled over the chaos.
Ella didn't hesitate. She threw open the door of the SUV and ran across the cold courtyard, her heavy wool coat billowing behind her. She navigated the broken glass and surrendered guards, guided only by the towering, masculine presence of Beckett waiting for her at the breached entrance.
"He's upstairs," Beckett told her, his expression softening as he looked at her pale, determined face. "East wing. Stay directly behind me."
They rushed up the modern glass staircase, Beckett leading the way with his weapon drawn. The estate was eerily quiet on the second floor, the staff having fled or surrendered to the heavily armed men below. They reached the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor.
Beckett didn't wait for a key. He raised his foot and kicked the door violently just beside the lock. The wood splintered and gave way, swinging open to reveal a sprawling, pastel-colored nursery.
A woman in a nightgown screamed, backing away from a white crib in the center of the room.
May you like
Ella pushed past Beckett, running frantically toward the crib. She looked down into the soft blankets. Lying there, completely unharmed and sleeping peacefully, was her tiny, beautiful son.
"My baby," Ella sobbed, reaching down and scooping the infant up into her arms. She cradled his small body against her chest, weeping openly as she buried her face in his soft, fine hair. "Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you."
