Chapter 25 - Blood on the Ballroom Floor
The grand ballroom, where Vanessa Sterling had sneered and tossed red wine only hours before, was now a staging ground of shadows and broken crystal.
Four heavily armed Iron Guard contractors moved through the room, sweeping their weapon lights across the overturned banquet tables, the ruined floral arrangements, and the grand chandeliers that hung dormant in the darkness.
"Keep your eyes up," the squad leader barked quietly. "She likes elevated positions. Check the mezzanine."
Two men aimed their rifles toward the gilded mezzanine balcony that overlooked the ballroom floor.
Silence. Only the drum of rain against the vast stained-glass windows.
Suddenly, the massive double doors of the ballroom slammed shut with an echoing boom.
The emergency sprinkler system erupted.
Thousands of gallons of water hissed down from the ceiling in a blinding cascade, drenching the mercenaries instantly. The heavy downpour inside the room rendered their night-vision optics useless, blinding them with white noise and thermal scatter.
"Off optics! Go to white light!" the leader yelled, tearing off his night-vision goggles.
As the blinding tactical flashlights cut through the artificial rain, a shadow descended from the central chandelier rope.
Naomi hit the floor between two mercenaries like an artillery shell. She didn't fire; in the blinding spray, muzzle flashes would give away her exact position. She used cold, surgical close-quarters combat.
Her tactical knife flashed through the spray of water.
A clean strike to the first soldier’s femoral artery brought him instantly to his knees. Before the second could swing his barrel, Naomi grabbed the hot suppressor of his carbine, twisted it away from her body, and delivered a devastating knee strike to his sternum, shattering the ribs beneath his vest. She spun behind him, wrapped her forearm around his throat, and used him to absorb a burst of panic fire from the remaining two mercenaries near the grand piano.
*Clang! Ping!*
Rounds ricocheted off the grand piano's iron frame, sending discordant, horrifying musical notes echoing through the cavernous hall.
Naomi dropped the limp shield, rolled behind an overturned marble buffet table, and retrieved two flashbangs from her belt. She pulled the pins with her teeth, cooked them for one second, and lobbed them across the wet parquet floor.
*BANG! BANG!*
A blinding, twin explosion of white magnesium light and concussive sound shattered the ballroom’s acoustics.
The two surviving mercenaries stumbled back, clutching their ears, disoriented and blind.
Naomi emerged from the smoke and falling water like a ghost from an executioner’s dream. Two rapid, double-taps echoed in the room.
*Thump-thump. Thump-thump.*
Both men dropped into the pooling water on the floor, their weapons clattering against the marble.
Naomi stood amidst the raining water, drenched, her maid’s uniform torn and soaked in crimson, her chest rising and falling in steady, controlled rhythms.
She walked over to the squad leader, who was still groaning on the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh. She placed her combat boot firmly on his shattered hand, pressing down until he screamed.
"Where is Marcus Cole?" she asked quietly.
"Go to hell, Reyes," the man spat through blood-flecked teeth.
Naomi pressed harder, the sound of breaking finger bones sickeningly clear under the rain. "I'll ask once more. Where is he?"
"He's... he's in the west wing conservatory," the soldier gasped, tears mixing with the water on his face. "He has the girl's security codes. He doesn't need Ethan anymore. He’s setting the charges to level the foundation and bury you all."
Naomi kicked him across the jaw, knocking him into unconsciousness.
She turned toward the grand corridor leading to the conservatory. Her eyes were burning with an ancient, untamed fury.
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"Time to finish this," she whispered.
***
