Chapter 7
The midnight extraction was swift, silent, and incredibly tense. Amara held a sleeping Elijah tightly to her chest as two heavily armed men escorted them down a secret service elevator to the underground garage. Xavier was there, dressed in a black tactical sweater that clung tightly to his broad shoulders, making him look less like a businessman and more like a soldier.
He didn't speak as he opened the door to the armored, bulletproof SUV. He gently touched Elijah's head one last time before looking at Amara. His eyes communicated a thousand silent, lethal promises. He closed the door, sealing them inside the steel vault of the vehicle.
The drive to the mountains took three hours. When they arrived at the safe house—a massive, ultra-modern compound hidden deep within a pine forest—Amara was exhausted. The security detail, led by the stoic Silas, quickly ushered them inside.
For the next two days, the compound was a gilded cage. Amara and Elijah had the run of the massive house, filled with every toy, luxury, and comfort imaginable, but they were not allowed near the windows, and the heavy steel doors remained locked.
Amara spent her time keeping Elijah distracted, baking cookies in the massive kitchen, and reading him stories. But her mind was constantly drifting back to the city, to the dark, tattooed man fighting a war he had started to protect them.
On the evening of the third day, Silas entered the main living area. His face was grim, his suit dusty and wrinkled. Amara felt a cold spike of pure dread pierce her stomach.
"Is he…?" Amara couldn't finish the sentence, her hands instinctively grabbing the edge of the sofa.
"The boss is alive," Silas said quickly, sensing her panic. "But it's bad, Miss Brooks. Marcus hired outside muscle. Mercenaries. They hit three of our warehouses simultaneously. We lost a lot of men."
Amara let out a shaky breath. "Where is Xavier?"
"He's still in the city, rallying the families that are still loyal to us," Silas explained, pacing the floor. "He sent me back here to reinforce your position. Marcus knows you're his weak point. If he finds out where this safe house is, he will throw everything he has at it to leverage the boss."
"Then we need to be ready," Amara said, surprising herself with the steady, calm authority in her own voice.
Silas stopped pacing and looked at her, a hint of genuine respect in his hardened eyes. "I brought you something, Miss Brooks. The boss’s orders."
Silas reached behind his back and pulled out a sleek, black 9mm handgun. He held it out to her, grip first.
Amara stared at the weapon. It looked incredibly heavy, cold, and entirely foreign to her world of serving trays and folded linens.
"I don't know how to use that," Amara said, her voice finally trembling.
"The boss said you're a fast learner," Silas replied softly. "I'm going to teach you. Because if they breach the perimeter, my men will be fighting in the halls. You will be the last line of defense for the boy."
Amara looked over at Elijah, who was happily coloring a picture at the kitchen island, completely oblivious to the violence surrounding them. She thought of Vivian, of the freezing dark room, of the terror in the little boy’s eyes. She thought of Xavier’s protective, heavy hand on her shoulder.
She reached out and took the cold, heavy steel of the gun. "Show me what to do."
For the next four hours, in the soundproof basement of the compound, Silas drilled her. He taught her how to hold it, how to rack the slide, how to aim, and how to fire. Her hands were bruised, her shoulders ached from the recoil, but she did not stop until she could hit the center of the paper target consistently.
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"Good," Silas said, watching her reload the magazine with shaking but determined hands. "Keep it close. Keep the safety on until you're ready to pull the trigger. And if you have to pull it, Miss Brooks... don't hesitate."
"I won't," Amara promised, her beautiful, soft features hardening into something fierce and unyielding.
