Chapter 3 - The Ambush in the Surgical Ward
The heavy plate glass of the ICU observation window shattered inward in an explosive shower of glittering daggers.
High-velocity rounds chewed through the drywall behind Dominic’s bed, destroying the cardiac monitor and severing the oxygen lines.
I screamed, diving onto the linoleum floor behind the stainless-steel supply cart as concrete dust filled the air.
Dominic did not hesitate for a fraction of a second; he ripped the IV lines and drainage catheters from his chest with his bare hands.
Ignoring the searing agony of his opened surgical wounds, he rolled off the mattress, throwing his entire muscular body over mine to shield me from the fire.
Three masked operatives dressed in sterile surgical scrubs and black tactical vests swarmed through the shattered doorway with submachine guns.
“Target is in the corner! Neutralize the girl and finish Sterling!” the lead assassin barked in a thick European accent.
Before the gunmen could raise their barrels, the heavy wooden bathroom door inside the suite was kicked open with concussive force.
Marcus, Dominic’s lifelong bodyguard and chief lieutenant, exploded into the room with a customized automatic shotgun.
The deafening blast blew the lead assassin off his feet, sending him crashing into the corridor wall amidst a cloud of pulverized plaster.
Dominic scrambled forward on the floor, grabbing the fallen operative’s sidearm from the linoleum with practiced, lethal speed.
He raised the weapon with two hands, firing three synchronized, pinpoint shots through the haze of smoke.
The remaining two assassins collapsed onto the bloody tiles, their weapons clattering harmlessly against the baseboards.
The room fell into a ringing, suffocating silence, broken only by the hiss of punctured oxygen canisters and Dominic’s ragged breathing.
Dominic knelt over me, his bare chest soaked in fresh blood from his ruptured incisions, checking my face with trembling, frantic hands.
“Are you hit, Sarah? Look at me! Are you bleeding?” Dominic demanded, his voice thick with unyielding, protective terror.
“I’m fine… I’m not hit,” I gasped, clutching his trembling wrists, staring in horror at the fresh red pooling beneath his bandages.
Marcus stepped over the fallen bodies, racking his weapon and replacing the magazine with crisp military efficiency.
“Boss, the hospital perimeter is completely compromised,” Marcus reported with grim urgency.
“Julian’s secondary hit squad cut the power grid to the west wing and compromised the lower parking garage.”
“They know Dr. Thornton operated on you, and they have already dispatched two surveillance vehicles to her East Boston address.”
My blood ran colder than the winter rain outside as the terrifying realization struck my soul.
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“Lily…” I screamed, scrambling to my feet.
“They are going to my house!”
