A Quiet Life Denied

Chapter 84 83: The Cold Concrete

The left gate of the master bedroom suite was an iron-reinforced bottleneck, and for the Petrova advance team, it had turned into a meat grinder.

From the perspective of the syndicate soldiers pouring into the narrow corridor, the defense was unnatural. They weren't fighting standard corporate security; they were trading lead with a ghost who understood the geometry of a crossfire perfectly.

"Move up! He's reloading!" a Petrova vanguard barked, his submachine gun chewing through the antique crown molding of the frame.

He lunged past the threshold, only for three rounds to punch clean through his throat. The impact spun him around, his blood spraying the floral wallpaper before he hit the carpet. The defender—the tactical leader —was using a overturned marble-topped dresser as a deflector, firing blind around the corner with rhythmic, terrifying discipline. Every time a Petrova barrel peeked around the corner, a high-velocity round met it.

"We're losing too many men! Bring the shields up!" another soldier screamed, ducking as concrete dust exploded from the pillar behind him.

The syndicate was burning through ammunition, their advance stalled by a single man. The floor was slick with brass casings and their own blood. Realizing they were being bled white in a hallway, the frontline lieutenant hit his radio, his teeth bared in frustration.

"We have found the woman! The Ardent bitch is at the western bedroom gate! Come quick! All teams converge!"

The transmission changed the tide. Within seconds, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the main stairwell as reinforcements doubled, then tripled. The weight of numbers pushed the leader back. His rifle ran dry, clacking open on an empty chamber.

A Petrova soldier rounded the corner, barrel raised.

The leader didn't hesitate. He hurled the empty rifle directly into the man's face, shattering his nose, and lunged forward into the smoke. Before the second soldier could pull his trigger, the leader's hand clamped onto the hot barrel, forcing the weapon upward as it emptied into the ceiling. With his free hand, the leader drove a tactical knife upward beneath the man's jaw, twisting it once before ripping it out.

Two more syndicate men tackled him to the floor. The leader slammed his helmeted head backward into one man's teeth, breaking them instantly, while using his forearm to crush the throat of the other. He killed a third by snapping his neck with a brutal, single-motion twist of his bare hands, his teeth bared in a snarl.

But the sheer mass of the swarm was overwhelming. Six men pinned his limbs, slamming his face into the blood-soaked carpet until the bones in his shoulder popped.

A Petrova lieutenant stepped forward, his boots stepping on the leader's chest. He reached down, grasping the blood-stained silk cloak of the figure the leader had been shielding with his body.

With a violent jerk, the lieutenant tore the cloak away.

It wasn't Victoria Ardent.

It was one of the young housemaids, her face pale, her lips trembling in absolute terror.

Pinned to the floor, his face smeared with crimson and white plaster dust, the tactical leader looked up through his cracked visor. He passed a bloody, dark smile to the syndicate soldiers.

A Few Minutes Ago...

The thunder from the courtyard matched the rhythm of the automatic fire downstairs. Amidst the chaos, the guard leader grabbed Victoria by her shoulders, his grip like iron, his voice perfectly steady.

"Here is the plan," he whispered, his eyes boring into hers, forcing her focus away from the screaming outside. "I am going to take one of the maids as a decoy to the exit with the least men. I can lower their numbers there. Their main target seems to be you, so the moment they think they have you cornered, they are going to call all their men from the other exits to reinforce them."

He reached out and decisively tore the heavy, dark wool cloak from Victoria's shoulders. Turning to the terrified maid huddled by the bedside cabinet, he threw the fabric over her head, bundling her shivering frame into a perfect silhouette of the Ardent matriarch.

"Keep your head down and look at the floor. Do exactly what I do," he commanded the girl, before looking back at Vance and the remaining operator. "That will be your only chance to slide through the blind spot. Now go."

From the narrow corridor outside the secondary master bedroom exit, the world was reduced to deafening concussions and the heavy smell of burnt cordite.

Present Time

The air outside the mansion's lower western service exit was thick with rain, the cold water stinging Victoria's face as she sprinted across the slick tarmac. Vance was on her left, his rifle raised to the treeline; the other guard was on her right, guiding her by the elbow.

Her lungs burned. Her legs felt heavy, but as she looked at the dark perimeter fence just fifty yards away, a fierce, protective instinct flared inside her chest.

It took so many sacrifices for them to save my life, she thought, her teeth clenching against the cold. I am not letting it go to waste. They died so I could run. I am going to li—

Tat. Tat.

Two sharp, unsuppressed cracks tore through the sound of the downpour.

The bullets didn't miss. The first round drilled through Vance's neck, the entry wound instantly spouting dark crimson into the rain as he collapsed without a sound. The second round caught the remaining guard square in the chest, the kinetic force lifting him off his feet and throwing his armored body into the mud.

Before Victoria could even process the horror, a third shot ripped through the air.

The bullet grazed the meat of her thigh, a white-hot iron brand that tore through her clothes and skin. She let out a sharp cry, her footing vanishing as she fell hard onto the wet concrete, sliding into the mud beside her fallen protectors.

Wincing in agony, she clutched her bleeding leg, the dark rain washing the crimson down her shins as she stared into the blackness of the garden.

A/N

8 more chapters to come today