Chapter 25: Intrusion
Kian let go of his collar, turning back toward the bed.
He walked over to Isabella, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind her small ear. He leaned down, pressing a long, hard kiss against her forehead.
Her skin was cold, and she stiffened beneath his lips, her body completely rigid.
"I’ll be back soon, Bella," he whispered, his thumb pressing firm against her cheekbone. "Don’t move from this bed."
Isabella didn’t say a word. She didn’t nod. She just sat there in silence.
Kian stared at her for one long, uncomfortable second, a strange, dark chill settling deep in his chest.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him.
The heavy lock clicked sharply from the outside.
The black car carrying Kian pulled past the heavy iron gates of the estate, its rear tires kicking up wet gravel as it turned onto the main road.
A quarter of a mile down the tree-lined drive, parked under the thick shadow of an overgrown oak tree, a plain grey van sat with its engine idling quietly. Inside, a man lifted a small radio to his lips.
"Target’s out," he said softly. "Black Mercedes, heading south toward the highway. Two escort cars behind him."
Miles away, sitting in a quiet office with a glass of scotch in his hand, Aaron hummed into the line. "Wait five minutes until he hits the bridge. Then block the comms."
"Copy that, boss."
Over the next few minutes, the signal went out to six different men stationed along the perimeter of the Kingston estate.
These weren’t regular security guards.
They were handpicked, built like stone walls, and carried themselves with the easy, dangerous grace of men who had spent their lives dealing in violence.
Up on the roof of the west wing, three men slipped over the stone ledge, dropping down onto the soft lawn without making a sound.
"Eyes up," whispered Miller, the lead operative, as he adjusted his earpiece.
He was a tall guy with a scarred jaw who spent half his time cracking jokes and the other half breaking arms.
"CCTV in the south hall just went dark. We’ve got two minutes before their monitor guy notices the blind spot."
"Two minutes is plenty," muttered Jackson, crouching behind a boxwood hedge.
He glanced at the third guy, a stocky fellow named Briggs. "Don’t trip over your own boots this time, Briggs."
"Shut up," Briggs growled under his breath. "That was one time, and the floor was wet."
They moved fast, darting across the manicured gardens.
They knew the layout by heart, Aaron had given them old structural blueprints of the mansion from back when Isabella’s father ran the place.
Inside the security monitoring room, a young guard sat back in his wheeled chair, staring at a row of screens. He tapped his pen against his knee, then stopped.
On screen four, the camera covering the eastern courtyard flickered twice, then froze on a static frame of a swaying tree branch.
"Hey, Sam," the guard called out to his partner. "Did camera four glitch out again?"
"Probably the rain," Sam said, pouring coffee into a paper cup. "Check the feed history."
The guard leaned forward, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He pulled up the live feed for the main hallway.
Everything looked normal, until he realized the sentry who was supposed to walk past the tall grandfather clock every three minutes hadn’t shown up.
"Wait..." The guard’s eyebrows furrowed. He reached over to press the intercom button.
"Unit Three, report in. Unit Three, what’s your position?"
Silence.
Before he could reach for his belt radio, the heavy metal door to the monitoring room swung open. Miller and Jackson stepped inside.
"Afternoon, fellas," Miller said with a crooked grin.
Sam dropped his coffee cup, reaching for his holster, but Jackson closed the distance in a heartbeat, driving a heavy elbow straight into the side of Sam’s neck.
Sam crumpled to the floor like a sack of flour. The first guard panicked, lunging across the console to slap his palm down on a bright red emergency button.
A loud, piercing klaxon roared through the entire mansion, the high-pitched siren bouncing off the marble walls and shattering the quiet morning air. Red emergency lights began to pulse along the ceilings.
Jackson groaned, throwing his hands up. "Seriously? You let him hit the big red button?"
"He was fast!" Miller defended himself, pulling the guard off the desk and tying his wrists together. "Whatever. Quiet phase is over anyway."
He tapped his earpiece. "Boss, alarm’s tripped. Moving to phase two."
Across the estate, Aaron’s voice came through the line, calm as a lake. "Proceed. Don’t touch the woman."
Down in the main foyer, the sudden blare of the alarm tore through the air.
Luke stood near the base of the grand staircase, his head snapping up.
The side of his jaw still throbbed where Kian had hit him yesterday, but his eyes turned completely cold.
He didn’t panic. He pulled his weapon from beneath his jacket, his voice booming over the sound of the siren as guards came running out of the side halls.
"Lock down the main gates!" Luke barked out. "Seal the ground floor doors! You three, stay on the west wing. Do not chase them outside! Hold your ground!"
He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, intending to call Kian immediately. But when he looked down at the screen, there were zero bars. The signal was completely dead.
Luke’s heart sank into his stomach. Jammed.
Whoever was hitting the estate wasn’t a bunch of random thieves. They were professional, organized, and they knew exactly how to isolate the house.
"They want Madam Isabella," Luke realized aloud, his jaw tightening.
He didn’t waste another second. Leaving five armed guards at the main entrance, Luke sprinted up the marble stairs, taking them three at a time.
The master bedroom was no longer safe. If the attackers had blueprints, they would go straight for the primary quarters. He had to get her into the reinforced safe room behind the study.