Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of a Counter-StrikeThe hallway turned into a war zone of muzzle flashes and deafening gunfire.
Adrian fired twice, dropping the lead gunman before he could sweep his rifle toward the staircase. But four more mercenaries swarmed through the shattered doorway, automatic weapons sweeping the perimeter.
Claire moved like a phantom.
She didn't rely on brute force; she used geometry, leverage, and absolute ruthlessness. As the second gunman raised his assault rifle, Claire lunged forward, caught the barrel of the gun, shoved it upward into the chandelier, and slammed her heel into his knee joint with bone-crunching force.
The man screamed, collapsing instantly.
Before the third operative could pivot, Claire ripped the weapon from the falling man’s hands, spun on her heel, and used the heavy butt of the rifle to shatter the attacker’s visor.
Adrian covered her flank, his shots dropping two more men who tried to flank the staircase from the library.
Within ninety seconds, the grand foyer was littered with unconscious, disarmed mercenaries.
From the center of the room, stepping over groaning bodies with immaculate composure, came Héctor Morales himself.
He held a silenced pistol in his right hand, a cruel, ugly grin plastered across his face as he aimed it directly at Adrian’s chest.
“Well, well, Mr. Mercer,” Héctor laughed, his voice echoing off the marble walls. “You built a nice cage. But the wolves always find a way inside.”
Adrian tightened his grip on his pistol, preparing to lunge, knowing he was a fraction too slow to clear the distance before Héctor pulled the trigger.
Héctor’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Clack.
Before Héctor could fire, a heavy steel tactical combat knife whistled through the air from the darkened balcony above.
Thwack!
The knife buried itself deep into the drywall a quarter-inch from Héctor’s hand, pinning his sleeve to the wall and knocking the pistol from his grip with jarring impact.
Héctor shrieked, clutching his pinned arm.
He looked up toward the balcony.
Claire stood on the landing, her hands resting casually on the brass railing, her eyes cold as winter ice.
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“You missed the exit sign, Mr. Morales,” Claire said, her voice carrying an eerie, absolute stillness that chilled the cartel boss to his core. “This is private property.”
Before Héctor could move, Adrian closed the distance, grabbed the cartel leader by the collar, and delivered a devastating right hook that knocked Héctor out cold, sending him crashing into the shattered glass below.
