Chapter 8 - The Siege of St. Catherine’s
The sun dipped below the Manhattan skyline, painting the hospital windows in shades of blood-orange and deep violet.
At 8:14 PM, the streetlights along 4th Avenue flickered and died.
Inside St. Catherine Medical Center, the overhead emergency lights buzzed to life, casting a sickly yellow glow over the corridors.
“They cut the main power grid to the block,” Enzo’s voice crackled over the secure earpiece wired into Dominic’s collar. “Backup generators are online, but the security cameras on the ground floor have been jammed. They’re coming through the ambulance bay.”
Dominic stood by the window of Clara’s ICU room, sliding two spare magazines into the pockets of his trousers. He had traded his sweater for a heavy tactical vest over a black tactical shirt.
In the bed, Clara sat propped up against the pillows, her face pale, clutching a glass of water with shaking hands.
“Dominic...” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You need to leave. If they’re coming for me, you don’t have to stay here and die with me.”
Dominic turned away from the window. He walked slowly to the side of the bed, reaching out to gently touch her cheek. His skin was warm, his hand steady as a rock.
“I don't die, Clara,” Dominic said, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips. “And I certainly don't leave my wife.”
Before Clara could answer, the heavy double doors of the ICU exploded inward.
Wood splinters flew across the room as a concussion grenade rolled across the polished tile floor.
“Get down!” Dominic roared, tackling the hospital bed backward just as the grenade detonated with a deafening flash and a shockwave that rattled the medical monitors off the walls.
Smoke filled the hallway. Shouts and automatic gunfire echoed through the ward.
Dominic drew his 9mm pistol, rolled smoothly onto one knee, and fired three rapid shots through the smoke into the corridor. A man screamed and crashed hard against the vending machine outside.
“Enzo!” Dominic shouted into his collar mic. “Status!”
“Holding the stairwell, Boss!” Enzo’s voice barked back over the gunfire. “They brought heavy ordnance! We need to move her—now!”
Dominic didn't hesitate. He holstered his pistol, reached down, and scooped Clara out of the hospital bed as easily as if she weighed nothing, wrapping her in a heavy wool blanket.
“Hold onto me,” Dominic ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
May you like
“Where are we going?” Clara gasped, burying her face against his tactical vest as the sound of glass shattering echoed from down the hall.
“To my helicopter on the roof,” Dominic said, stepping over the threshold of the smoking ICU into a warzone. “And then, my love... we go hunting.”
