Chapter 12 - The Evacuation
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The execution of Victor Crane sent a shockwave through the estate, but there was no time to process the violence. The mansion was no longer a safe haven. The Volkovs knew our defenses, and Tyler Bennett had proven he could bypass them.
"We are moving to the primary safehouse," Damian announced as we rode the elevator back up to the main floor. "The estate is compromised. Pack only what you absolutely need, Harper. We leave in twenty minutes."
I ran to the master suite, pulling off the heavy emerald gown and changing into dark, practical clothing—sturdy boots, black denim, and a thick sweater. I grabbed a small duffel bag and shoved a few essentials inside, my hands shaking with the residual adrenaline of the basement interrogation.
When I returned to the foyer, Damian was already waiting. He had shed his tuxedo for full tactical gear. A heavy ballistic vest covered his chest, and an assault rifle was slung effortlessly over his shoulder. He looked like a warlord preparing for a siege.
Gabriel stood beside him, coordinating the convoy with a dozen heavily armed loyalists.
"We take the armored subterranean route," Gabriel instructed. "Two decoy vehicles will exit the main gates. We take the tunnel beneath the property that exits three miles away in the industrial sector. It’s tight, but it’s secure."
Damian nodded, turning to me. He wrapped his massive arm securely around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. "Stay exactly beside me."
We moved quickly through the secret maintenance corridors of the estate, descending into a dark, damp concrete tunnel lit only by emergency red lighting. Three heavily armored, matte-black SUVs were idling in the narrow space.
Damian practically lifted me into the back seat of the center vehicle, sliding in right beside me and slamming the heavy, bulletproof door shut. Gabriel took the driver’s seat.
"Move out," Damian ordered over the secure radio frequency.
The convoy surged forward, the massive engines roaring in the confined tunnel. We drove in complete darkness for several agonizing minutes before bursting out into the freezing, rain-swept night of the industrial district.
I leaned against Damian’s shoulder, the exhaustion finally catching up to my racing heart.
"Where is the safehouse?" I asked softly over the hum of the engine.
"It’s an old decommissioned bank vault in the financial district," Damian replied, keeping his eyes constantly scanning the dark streets outside the tinted windows. "Three feet of reinforced steel, independent power grid, and completely off the books. We will be ghosts."
Before I could express my relief, a massive, deafening explosion rocked the street ahead of us.
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The lead SUV in our convoy suddenly erupted into a blinding ball of orange fire, flipped violently into the air, and crashed down in a mangled heap of burning metal directly in our path.
"Ambush!" Gabriel roared, slamming on the brakes as the SUV fishtailed wildly on the wet pavement.
