Chapter 9 - The Fire in Bucktown
The darkness beneath the floorboards vibrated with the thunder of automatic gunfire.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Plaster dust fell through the cracks in the ceiling, covering Clare's hair and clothes as she huddled in the narrow crawlspace.
Above her, Nicholas moved like a phantom. She heard the heavy thud of tactical boots, the shatter of brickwork under heavy rifle fire, the sudden, agonizing screams of men being hit at close range.
"He's in the kitchen! Flank him!" a voice roared from the living room.
A heavy shotgun blast ripped through the floorboards three feet from where Clare lay curled up. She covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, praying with every fiber of her soul.
Please, God. Don't let him die again.
A loud crash echoed directly above her head as a heavy body slammed onto the oak floorboards, followed by the wet sound of a knife strike.
Then... total silence.
The thunder of gunfire stopped. The heavy smell of gunpowder, burnt copper, and hot plaster drifted down through the floorboards, suffocatingly thick.
Clare held her breath, her fingers clutching her sweater.
Two seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
Slowly, the wooden trapdoor above her head creaked open.
A hand reached down into the gloom—covered in soot, plaster dust, and fresh red blood.
"Clare," Nicholas’s voice called out, raspy and breathing heavy, but intact. "Give me your hand."
Clare scrambled up out of the hole, pulling herself into the ruined kitchen.
The carriage house was destroyed. Glass was shattered across every surface, bullet holes perforated the brick walls, and four men in tactical gear lay motionless among the debris.
Nicholas stood in the center of the room, holding his side where a rifle bullet had grazed his ribs, torn through his dark sweater, leaving a bright red streak along his old scar tissue.
"You're hurt!" Clare cried out, rushing to his side, catching his weight as he leaned against the counter.
"It's a graze," Nicholas gasped out, his face pale under the dust. "Marcus’s main team is ten minutes away. We have to go now."
"Where?"
May you like
Nicholas looked down at her, his dark eyes burning with ultimate, unyielding resolve.
"To the docks," he whispered. "To finish this."
