Chapter 16 - iron grip
Richard turned his head toward the back hallway, his eyebrows knitting together in sudden annoyance. "What was that?"
Taking advantage of his distraction, I raised the revolver and fired a shot into the ceiling plaster above the lead gunman's head. The deafening roar of the gunshot filled the foyer like a cannon blast.
The gunman dropped to one knee, firing two silenced rounds that splintered the oak banister inches from my shoulder. I ducked behind the heavy marble pillar, firing a second shot toward the open front door before breaking into a sprint down the service corridor toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was in utter chaos. The glass doors of the conservatory had been kicked inward, and rain was pouring across the tiled floor. On the ground lay one of Richard's men, groaning and clutching his leg.
Standing in the center of the room, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker covered in soot, was Ethan.
He looked thinner, his face pale and marked by a dark scar running along his jawline, his coat drenched in rainwater and blood. But his gray eyes burned with a fierce, dangerous light.
"Julian!" Ethan barked, his voice hoarse and raw. "Where are Nora and Lily?"
May you like
"They're heading to the garden shed through the cellar tunnel!" I yelled over the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway.
"Get to the car," Ethan said, grabbing my arm with a grip like steel. "We don't have much time!"
