Chapter 8
The subterranean motor vault beneath the estate’s west wing smelled of gasoline, motor oil, and damp concrete. Lit by dim, humming fluorescent tubes, the underground bunker housed Hector’s fleet of custom vehicles.
At the center of the bay sat an armored midnight-black Suburban—equipped with run-flat tires, reinforced bulletproof glass, and an engine block shielded against high-caliber ammunition.
Two guards dragged Julian and Odette down the steel industrial steps into the garage.
Julian’s face was a grotesque canvas of dried blood and swelling, his jaw broken and his eye swollen shut from Hector’s blow. Odette was barely walking, her bare feet cut by broken glass from the dining hall, sobbing in exhausted, breathless gasps as she stumbled across the concrete.
Cassian opened the rear doors of the Suburban and shoved both traitors into the third-row seating, binding their wrists with heavy zip-ties to the floor rings.
"Sit still and shut up," Cassian snarled, slamming the door.
Hector walked to the passenger side of the front row, gently placing Maiselle into the reinforced child safety seat securely installed in the rear captain’s chair. He buckled the five-point harness with meticulous care, checking each strap twice.
"Is the monster gone, Daddy?" Maiselle asked, her voice small, her hand still holding the gold pocket watch.
"The monsters are locked up, sweetheart," Hector said, leaning in and kissing her forehead. "You’re going to take a nap while Daddy drives. When you wake up, we’ll be by the water."
He handed her a small wool blanket from the trunk, tucking it under her chin. "Close your eyes, Maisie."
"Okay, Daddy." She closed her eyes obediently, exhaustion finally overcoming terror.
Hector shut the door softly, walked around to the driver’s side, and got behind the wheel. Cassian climbed into the passenger seat, racking the charging handle of his rifle.
Hector turned the key. The massive V8 engine roared to life with a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through the floorboards of the concrete garage.
"Open the tunnel gate," Hector ordered into the radio mounted to the dash.
At the far end of the garage, a heavy steel blast door began to slide open, revealing a two-mile subterranean escape tunnel bored through the granite bedrock beneath the estate, leading directly to the private marina on the bay.
Before the door had opened completely, the garage’s reinforced ceiling shuddered.
Dust and small chunks of concrete rained down onto the hood of the Suburban. The sound of heavy tactical boots and shouts echoed from the upper stairs leading to the mansion.
"They're inside the house, Boss!" Cassian warned, watching the rearview mirrors. "Carmine’s second wave!"
Hector did not look back. He shifted the heavy vehicle into drive, planted his leather shoe firmly on the accelerator, and let the four-ton armored truck rocket forward.
Tires squealed against the slick concrete, leaving black rubber tracks as the Suburban shot into the dark maw of the tunnel.
Behind them in the third row, Julian leaned his head against the glass, groaning in agony. "Hector... you can't get away... Carmine has boats at the bay... He knew about the marina..."
Hector’s gaze met Julian’s in the rearview mirror. His eyes were devoid of fear, filled only with an ancient, terrifying stillness.
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"Good," Hector said, his voice flat as a tombstone. "That saves me the trouble of hunting them down."
He pressed the pedal to the floor. The Suburban barreled through the damp, narrow tunnel at eighty miles an hour, heading directly toward the crashing waves of the Atlantic coast.
