Chapter 4 - The Escape to the Charles
The underground tunnel smelled of damp stone and ancient river sludge. Evelyn moved as quickly as she could, shielding Noah with her left arm while holding the pistol firmly in her right hand. Behind them, the muffled sounds of gunfire and heavy explosions echoed down the narrow corridor.
Marcus walked ahead, his weapon raised, checking every shadow and alcove. "We’re almost at the river boathouse. Another fifty yards."
"Where is Michael?" Evelyn asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. The weight of the baby against her chest was a constant reminder of how high the stakes were.
"The boss knows what he’s doing," Marcus replied without turning around. "When Michael Carter tells you to move, you move. He doesn't lose battles on his own turf."
Suddenly, the stone walls beneath their feet vibrated violently. A deep, roaring boom reverberated through the tunnel, followed by a shockwave of dust and displaced air that nearly knocked Evelyn off her feet. The thermal charges had been detonated. Above them, the grand Carter mansion was collapsing into a mountain of rubble and fire.
"He did it," Marcus muttered, a mixture of awe and grim satisfaction in his voice. "He actually blew the estate."
Before they could reach the iron door leading to the boathouse, a shadow moved from behind a heavy support pillar.
"Drop your weapons!" a harsh voice barked in the darkness.
Two mercenaries in full tactical attire stepped into the dim light, their submachine guns pointed directly at Marcus and Evelyn. They had bypassed the main mansion by coming through the river access route—Vane’s team had anticipated an escape attempt by water.
Marcus raised his weapon instantly, but the lead mercenary fired first. A short burst struck Marcus in the chest. His body armor absorbed the force, but the momentum threw him hard against the stone wall, his gun clattering to the ground.
"Don't move, girl!" the second mercenary yelled, aiming his rifle straight at Evelyn’s forehead. "Give me the baby!"
Evelyn didn't panic. Her training, long suppressed under the quiet persona of a domestic maid, flared to life. She didn't retreat; instead, she took a swift step sideways, ducking beneath the line of fire while raising her handgun with both hands.
Double tap.
Two rapid shots rang out in the confined space. The first bullet struck the lead mercenary in the neck; the second pierced his chest, dropping him instantly to the cold stone floor.
The second mercenary swiveled his barrel toward her, but before he could pull the trigger, a sleek black shadow emerged from the darkness behind him.
A hand reached out, grabbing the mercenary's throat with terrifying strength, while another hand twisted the weapon upward. A muffled gun shot went off harmlessly into the arched ceiling. Michael Carter slammed the mercenary against the stone wall, driving a heavy tactical blade straight into his vest gap before throwing his lifeless body aside.
Michael stood there, breathing heavily, his custom suit covered in gray plaster dust and soot, his eyes sharp and burning with adrenaline. He looked directly at Evelyn, then down at Noah, who was surprisingly fast asleep, protected by the noise-canceling ear muffs Evelyn had secured on him before leaving the nursery.
"Are you hurt?" Michael asked, his voice rough.
"I'm fine," Evelyn panted, lowering her gun. "Marcus took a hit to his vest."
Michael helped Marcus up, checking his tactical vest. "You alright, Marcus?"
"Ribs are bruised, boss. But I'll live," Marcus grunted, grabbing his dropped submachine gun. "The river boathouse is clear."
They pushed open the heavy iron door at the end of the tunnel, stepping out into the cool, damp night air of the Charles River bank. Docked inside a covered wooden boathouse was a sleek, matte-black cigarette boat equipped with dual high-performance engines and radar-evading hull profiles.
"Get in," Michael ordered, offering his hand to help Evelyn board the vessel.
As the powerful engines roared to life with a deep, guttural thrum, Evelyn looked back toward the hilltop where the Carter estate had stood for generations. A massive pillar of dark smoke and bright orange flames shot high into the night sky. The thirty-million-dollar palace was gone, reduced to a burning grave for Frank Miller and Victor Vane’s assault team.
Michael took the wheel, accelerating the boat smoothly out into the dark, misty waters of the river, heading toward Boston Harbor.
Evelyn sat in the leather passenger seat, cradling Noah tightly against her chest. She watched Michael’s sharp profile against the distant glow of the burning estate.
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"Where are we going?" she asked above the roar of the engines.
Michael didn't look back. His eyes were fixed on the dark horizon ahead. "Vane thinks he destroyed me tonight. He thinks my power died in the fire of that house. We are going to my safehouse in South Boston. And tomorrow, Evelyn, you and I are going to take your brother's evidence and tear down every single person who made your life—and my son's life—a nightmare."
