Chapter 8 - Night of the Wolves
The shockwave knocked Martha to the ground. Through the thick smoke, three heavily armed mercenaries wearing night-vision goggles strode into the room, their assault rifles raised.
"Clear the room!" one of the men barked in a harsh voice. "Find the kid!"
Martha raised her sidearm from the floor, firing two quick shots that took down the front mercenary, but the second gunman fired a burst, striking Martha in the shoulder and forcing her down behind the heavy counter.
Priya didn't freeze. She threw her body over the top of Owen’s incubator, using her own torso as a human shield against the smoke and flying glass.
"Get away from the box, lady!" a rough voice shouted through the haze. A large mercenary shoved Martha aside with his boot and advanced toward Priya, grabbing her by the back of her scrubs top and pulling her away from the incubator.
"No! Don't touch him!" Priya screamed, kicking and clawing violently at the man's armored vest.
"Shut up!" the mercenary snarled, raising the butt of his rifle to strike her face.
Before the blow could land, a shadowy figure materialized out of the smoke behind him.
A hand like a steel clamp caught the rifle stock mid-air. A blade flashed through the red emergency light with blinding speed. The mercenary let out a gurgling gasp and collapsed to the floor.
Weston Kade stepped over the body, his dark coat soaked with rain and blood. His face was covered in dirt and gunpowder, but his eyes burned with an animalistic, terrifying fury.
"I told you," Weston whispered, his voice echoing in the ruined room, "nobody touches my family."
The remaining mercenary spun his weapon around, but Weston was already upon him. In a flurry of brutal, military-grade hand-to-hand combat, Weston disarmed the man, slammed him against the concrete wall, and snapped his neck in one fluid motion.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the steady beep of Owen’s heart monitor and the heavy, ragged breathing of Weston Kade.
Weston dropped his weapon and turned to Priya. He rushed to her side, falling to his knees and taking her face in his trembling hands. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you?"
"I’m... I’m okay," Priya gasped, tears finally spilling down her cheeks as she looked at him. "You came back."
"I promised you I would," Weston said softly, wiping her tears away with his gloved thumb.
Behind them, the medical suite’s internal communications radio hummed to life. Viktor’s voice came through. "Boss! We’ve cleared the estate grounds. Dominic Moretti was captured attempting to flee through the woods. He’s alive, in chains."
Weston didn't even look at the radio. His eyes never left Priya’s face. "Put him in the cellar. I’ll deal with him when my son’s nurse tells me it’s time."
Priya looked past Weston to the incubator. Despite the gunfire, the explosion, and the chaos, baby Owen was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, his heart rate a perfect 135 beats per minute.
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She looked back at Weston and let out a breathless, relieved laugh. "He slept through the whole thing."
Weston pulled Priya close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight against his chest. For the first time in years, the king of Chicago felt safe.
