Chapter 16 - Protecting What's Mine
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The ballroom was absolute, terrifying chaos. The flashes of muzzle fire illuminated the darkness like deadly strobe lights.
“Marcus! Form up!” Victor yelled into the darkness, his voice cutting through the screaming.
“We’re cut off, Boss!” Marcus yelled back from across the room, providing suppressing fire. “They blocked the main exits!”
Victor didn't panic. He pulled a sleek, heavy pistol from his holster.
“Stay exactly behind me,” Victor commanded Hannah, grabbing her hand and pulling her up into a crouch. “We’re moving to the kitchen doors.”
They moved through the crossfire. Victor was a machine of lethal precision. He fired three times, dropping three Russian mercenaries who tried to intercept them. He didn't waste a single bullet. He moved with a cold, terrifying grace, ensuring that his body was always positioned between Hannah and the enemy guns.
A mercenary lunged from behind an overturned ice sculpture, raising a shotgun directly at Hannah.
Victor roared, physically shoving her out of the way. He took the blast to his left shoulder, the Kevlar vest beneath his tuxedo stopping the penetration but the sheer kinetic force cracking his ribs. He didn't even stumble. He raised his weapon and put a bullet perfectly between the attacker's eyes.
“Victor!” Hannah screamed, seeing him take the hit.
“I’m fine! Move!”
They burst through the swinging kitchen doors, into the stainless-steel prep area. Victor’s tactical team had secured the service elevator.
“Get her in the car,” Victor ordered Marcus as they reached the underground loading dock.
“Boss, your ribs,” Marcus noted, seeing the way Victor favored his left side.
“Drive,” Victor snarled.
The armored SUV tore out of the parking garage, tires screeching, leaving the burning hotel behind them. The Russians had failed to kill the king, but they had effectively declared open war on the streets of Baltimore.
Hannah sat in the backseat, her emerald dress ruined, shaking violently. She reached out, pressing her hand against Victor’s bruised chest.
“You took a bullet for me,” she whispered, tears spilling down her face.
May you like
Victor looked at her, his gray eyes burning in the dim light of the streetlamps.
“I would take a thousand,” he vowed.
