Chapter 5 - The Night on Commercial Street
Damon didn't shout. He didn't warn them.
He ran through the rain, his dark wool coat billowing behind him like the wings of a predatory bird, bringing his Kimber .45 up in two hands.
BANG! BANG!
The two gunshots sliced through the sound of the falling rain. The man holding Adriana’s right arm buckled instantly, hit twice in the thigh and hip, collapsing onto the wet cobblestones with a roar of pain.
The second man spun around, pulling a suppressed submachine gun from beneath his coat, but Damon was already moving, sliding across the wet hood of a parked sedans to break his line of sight.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Automatic fire chewed through the sedan’s glass and metal, sending glittering showers of safety glass flying through the dark air.
Adriana scrambled backward under the body of the Suburban, clutching her belly with one hand and Eli’s watch in the other, her face smeared with rain and oil. “Damon!” she shrieked.
Damon popped up from behind the sedan's trunk, squeezing off three rapid rounds.
The second shooter took two heavy hits to his tactical vest, the momentum knocking him off his feet and throwing him against the side of the idling van. Before he could recover, Damon closed the distance in four long strides, drove his heavy boot into the man’s jaw with brutal efficiency, knocking him cold instantly.
The driver of the van panicked. Seeing two of his men down, he slammed the vehicle into reverse, tires screaming against the wet asphalt as he backed out of the alley at forty miles an hour, vanishing into the neon-lit traffic of Commercial Street.
Silence slammed back down over the alley, broken only by the heavy hum of the rain and the groans of the wounded men on the pavement.
Damon stood over them, his chest heaving, water dripping from his jaw, his pistol pointed down at the rainy ground.
He turned his head toward the Suburban.
Leo was pushing himself up against the tire, clutching his bleeding shoulder, pale but conscious. “I tried, Damon... they came out of the shadows before we could open the doors...”
“You did well, kid,” Damon said, his voice raspy. He walked over to the side of the vehicle, dropping to his knees in the cold rain beside Adriana.
She was hyperventilating, her clothes soaked through, her body shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.
“Are you hit?” Damon demanded, his hands instantly scanning her body for blood, his dark eyes frantic with concern. “Adriana, look at me! Are you hit? Is the baby okay?”
Adriana stared at him through the blur of rain and tears. She shook her head rapidly. “No... no, I’m not hit... I just... I was so scared...”
Damon let out a long, shuddering breath he felt like he’d been holding for six months. He reached out, wrapped his large arms around her soaked shoulders, and pulled her gently against his chest right there on the wet pavement.
She buried her face into the lapel of his wet wool coat, weeping violently as the adrenaline released its grip on her body.
“I’ve got you,” Damon whispered into her wet hair, his heart pounding against her cheek. “I’ve got you, Adriana. No one touches you again. I swear it on Eli’s soul.”
He pulled back, taking her pale face between his warm hands. The slap mark from Celeste Marlowe was still visible, a faint rose-colored shadow beneath her pale skin.
“Michael!” Damon barked toward the Suburban.
The driver’s door opened, and Michael—a massive, silent man with a scarred neck—stepped out, holding a shotgun.
“Get Leo into the back,” Damon ordered. “Wrap Adriana in my thermal blanket in the trunk. We aren't going to the Berkshires.”
“Where are we going, boss?” Michael asked.
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Damon stood up, lifting Adriana effortlessly into his arms once more, carrying her toward the open passenger door of the armored SUV.
“We’re going to Viktor Kozlov’s estate in Brookline,” Damon said, his voice flat, devoid of any human doubt. “It’s time to end this family feud once and for all.”
