Chapter 5 - Dawn Breaks Over Beacon Hill
“Get down!” Daniel roared, his hand instinctively shooting toward his empty holster before he remembered his gun had skittered under the prep table during the scuffle.
Heavy combat boots thundered against the shattered glass of the front dining room. Shouts rang out—sharp, professional, and military-precise.
“Clear the front!”
“Sweep the kitchen!”
“They’re back,” Ali whispered, terror paralyzing his limbs. “Anna, they’re going to kill us all.”
“Not if we move right now,” I said, my adrenaline spiking to a level I hadn't felt since my foster-care days when running was the only option for survival.
I scooped the twin babies into my arms, pressing them tight against my chest beneath my oversized denim jacket. “Daniel, can you walk?”
He gritted his teeth, pressing a bloody hand against his stitched side, and pushed himself up from the floor. He swayed violently for a second before catching himself against the metal shelving. “I have to.”
“Ali, go out the back service exit toward the fish market,” I instructed quickly, looking at the older man. “Take your truck keys and drive toward the public gardens. Draw their attention if you can. We’ll slip out through the storm cellar doors.”
“Anna, no! That’s suicide!” Ali protested.
“It’s our only chance,” I insisted, grabbing a heavy iron skillet from the rack just in case. “Go!”
Ali nodded, tears welling in his eyes, before throwing open the back door and sprinting down the alleyway, shouting at the top of his lungs to draw the guards away.
Seconds later, heavy footsteps slammed into the kitchen.
“They went out the back!” someone yelled.
“After them!”
While the tactical team surged toward the rear alley, Daniel and I lifted the heavy wooden doors of the diner’s underground storm cellar. Pitch-black darkness and the smell of damp earth rose up to meet us.
“Go,” Daniel whispered, steadying me as I climbed down the steep concrete steps with the twins cradled securely in my arms.
Daniel followed, pulling the heavy cellar doors shut just as boots pounded across the floor directly above our heads.
We crouched in the dark beneath the streets of Boston, the muffled shouts of the Sterling Syndicate mercenaries fading into the distance.
“Where do we go now?” I whispered in the dark, my breathing ragged.
May you like
Daniel’s hand brushed against mine in the pitch black, his touch surprisingly warm and steady.
“My townhouse in Beacon Hill,” Daniel said, his voice iron-clad. “If we make it there, we step into a fortress. And then... we wage war.”
