Chapter 8 - The Hunt Across the Bay
The quiet confession on the porch was shattered by the sudden, sharp roar of high-performance engines cutting through the coastal fog.
Ethan’s instincts roared back to life in a split second. He surged to his feet, pulling Claire behind him against the cottage wall. He peered through the dense screen of spruce trees toward the narrow gravel access road winding up from the bay.
Three black tactical SUVs with tinted windows were climbing the hill at breakneck speed, their headlights extinguished, their grilles equipped with heavy steel push-bars.
"Who is that?" Claire asked, her voice steadying instantly, her sharp mind assessing the threat. "Torres wouldn't send tactical units here. He guaranteed my location was purged from the federal servers."
"Torres didn't send them," Ethan said, his jaw tightening into iron. He recognized the customized suspension and the reinforced chassis of the lead vehicle. "The Moreno cartel. Carlo Moreno."
"Carlo is in federal detention in New York," Claire said.
"His younger brother, Dominic, isn't," Ethan growled. "When I disbanded the Blackwood security perimeter in Boston, the Morenos realized our territory was completely unprotected. They must have followed me from South Boston. They don't care about the money, Claire. They want vengeance for their father's death five years ago."
The lead SUV crashed through the wooden gate at the base of the driveway, splintering the cedar rails with a deafening crack.
Ethan scanned the cottage. There were no assault rifles mounted behind the mantelpiece, no reinforced panic rooms, no armed lieutenants waiting for orders. He had arrived alone, unarmed, stripped of his mafia armor.
"Is there an exit through the back?" Ethan asked, looking at Claire.
"The cliffs," Claire replied, leading him through the kitchen toward the rear door. "There's a steep trail down to a private boat launch. Grand Horizon keeps an offshore maintenance cutter moored at the dock."
"Can you pilot it?"
"I bought the company, Ethan. I learned how to drive every vessel in the fleet," she answered with a grim, determined smirk.
Automatic gunfire suddenly erupted from the front driveway, shattering the living room windows of the cottage in a hail of flying glass and splintered wood. Bullets ripped through the bookcases, tearing Claire’s novels to shreds and showering the kitchen in plaster dust.
Ethan shoved Claire down behind the reinforced brick hearth, using his broad body as an impenetrable shield. A stray copper slug ricocheted off the iron chimney damper, grazing Ethan’s left shoulder and slicing through his dark wool coat. Warm blood immediately soaked through the fabric.
Claire gasped, her hands flying to his arm. "Ethan, you're hit!"
"It's a scratch," Ethan hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the burning agony in his flesh. "Move! Through the storm cellar doors! Now!"
They burst through the heavy cellar hatch into the cold, dense sea fog behind the house. Gunfire echoed from the front yard as four heavily armed cartel mercenaries rounded the corner of the cottage, shouting in Spanish and raising their submachine guns.
Ethan grabbed a heavy cast-iron fire pit ring resting on the stone patio, spinning with the full weight of his muscular frame, and hurled the sixty-pound iron ring directly into the chest of the lead gunman. The mercenary collapsed with a sickening crunch of broken ribs, his weapon discharging wildly into the spruce trees.
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Ethan dove forward, scooped up the fallen submachine gun, and fired two precise, controlled bursts into the engine blocks of the remaining two SUVs parked in the driveway. Steam and boiling coolant exploded from the punctured radiators, disabling the cartel's pursuit vehicles instantly.
"Run!" Ethan roared, grabbing Claire’s hand and sprinting down the rocky, slippery cliff trail toward the roaring ocean below.
