Chapter 7 - The Fortress Under Siege
By Monday of the third week, the Mercer estate had transformed completely into a military command post.
The manicured lawns were now patrolled by heavily armed guards wearing tactical vests and carrying submachine guns. High-definition security cameras were mounted along the perimeter walls, and the large windows on the ground floor were reinforced with heavy steel shutters.
Despite the mounting tension outside, inside the master suite, progress was being made.
"Again," I said, standing three feet away from the bed with my arms crossed.
Liam growled, a slick sheen of sweat covering his neck and broad shoulders. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet resting on the dark hardwood floor. His right leg was still encased in the heavy metal external fixator, but his abdominal drain had been removed two days ago, leaving a neat, healing pink scar.
Gripping the silver handles of a pair of aluminum crutches, Liam gritted his teeth, braced his core, and drove himself upward.
His massive frame shook violently. His knuckles turned white on the rubber grips, his face pale with agony as his left leg took his full weight, while his right leg hovered an inch above the floor.
"Good," I said softly, stepping closer so I was within arm's reach if his balance failed. "Now take one step forward with the crutches."
He moved the crutches six inches. Then, with a low, guttural roar of effort, he swung his body forward, landing his left foot firmly on the floor.
He was standing.
For the first time in nearly two months, Liam Mercer was standing on his own two feet.
He panted heavily, his shoulders rising and falling, his icy eyes fixed on the full-length mirror across the room. He looked formidable—a wounded giant reclaiming his stature, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his jaw set like iron.
"Not bad for a man who was supposed to be crippled," he rasped, looking at his reflection.
"Don't get arrogant," I warned, moving in to catch his waist as his left knee buckled slightly. "You put twenty percent weight on that right leg, and you'll snap the pin sites right out of the bone."
My arms wrapped around his broad back to steady him. His chest was warm, solid, and rising fast against mine. He turned his head, his face inches from mine, his breath brushing against my cheek.
"I wouldn't fall, Clara," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips. "Not while you're holding me."
The room seemed to shrink, the air turning dense and heavy. My breath caught in my throat, my hands lingering on the warm muscle of his lower back long after his balance had stabilized.
Before either of us could move, the heavy oak doors banged open.
May you like
Viktor rushed in, his face grim, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped hastily around his left forearm.
"They're through the gate, boss," Viktor barked, pulling a pair of heavy handguns from his belt. "Moretti brought forty men. They brought heavy rifles. The perimeter guards are falling back to the main house!"
