Chapter 8 - The Siege
It was like something out of a movie. I peered through the curtain in the living room and counted — six cars. All black. All SUVs. Men were pouring out of them, at least a dozen of them, all wearing black, all carrying guns. They spread out across the yard, taking cover behind the cars and trees, surrounding the house on all sides.
We were trapped.
“Tyler — call your guys,” Jacob said, already moving through the house, closing blinds, pushing furniture up against the doors. “Tell them we need backup. Now. And tell them to bring the big guns. These guys aren’t playing.”
Tyler was already on the phone, barking orders into the receiver, his face grim. My father had pulled a second rifle from the hall closet — an old AR-15 he’d had since the army — and was checking the magazine. My mother was loading the revolver, her hands surprisingly steady.
“Emma,” Jacob said, grabbing my arm. “You need to get to the safe room. Now.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not hiding in the basement while you fight my battles.”
“Emma, please —”
“I said no.” I looked him in the eye. “I’ve spent ten years taking care of myself and my son. I know how to shoot. You taught me, remember? Out at the orchard? I’m not useless, Jacob. Let me help.”
He stared at me for a second. Then he nodded. “Okay. Fine. But you stay behind me. And if I tell you to run —”
“I run. I know. Promise.”
He handed me a 9mm pistol from his duffel bag. It was heavier than I remembered, but familiar. I checked the magazine, racked the slide, just like he’d shown me when I was eighteen.
“Good,” he said. There was a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Now get upstairs. The window in your bedroom overlooks the backyard. If anyone tries to come in that way… you make them regret it.”
I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and threw myself onto the floor of my old bedroom, crawling to the window. I pulled back the curtain just enough to see. Three men were creeping along the back fence, staying low, moving toward the back porch. They had silencers on their guns. This wasn’t a fight they wanted anyone to hear.
I raised the pistol, my hands steady now. All the fear was gone, replaced by something cold and hard. Survival instinct. These men had come to hurt my family. To take my son. To kill the man I loved.
I wasn’t going to let them.
The first one reached the back porch. He tried the door handle. Found it locked. He signaled to the other two — they were going to breach.
I took a deep breath, just like Jacob had taught me. Squeeze. Don’t pull.
BANG.
The window shattered. The man in front screamed and grabbed his shoulder, dropping his gun. I’d hit him. Not a kill shot — I couldn’t do that, not unless I had to — but enough to put him down.
The other two scattered, diving for cover behind the grill and the garden shed. They started firing back — bullets ripping through the wall above my head, sending plaster raining down on me. I rolled away from the window, my heart hammering.
From downstairs, I heard more gunfire. Loud, deafening. The deep boom of my father’s rifle, the sharper crack of Jacob’s AR. Shouting. Glass breaking.
Then — the front door gave way.
I heard it splinter. Heard heavy boots on the hardwood floor. Heard my mother yell, “GET BACK!” followed by the sharp CRACK of her revolver.
I ran to the top of the stairs, pistol raised. Two men were in the entryway, their backs to me, advancing on the living room where my parents were. I didn’t hesitate this time.
BANG. BANG.
Both went down. One in the leg, one in the arm. They screamed and collapsed, clutching their wounds.
Jacob looked up from the living room, his rifle still raised, his eyes wide when he saw me.
“Emma! What did I —”
“Later!” I yelled. “More coming in the back!”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded and ran toward the kitchen.
The next ten minutes were the longest of my life.
It was chaos. Gunfire from every direction. Men yelling. Glass breaking. Smoke from gunpowder filling the air. We were outnumbered three to one, but we had the advantage of cover, of knowing the house, of being willing to fight harder because we had more to lose.
And then — sirens.
Lots of them. Getting closer fast.
The men outside hesitated. I saw them look at each other through the broken front window. They hadn’t expected this. Victor had probably told them the police would take twenty minutes to respond. Tyler’s guys were there in five.
“RETREAT!” someone yelled from the yard.
The men who were still standing ran for the cars. The ones who were down — three of them, including the two I’d shot — were left behind, groaning on the floor. The SUVs peeled out of the driveway, spraying gravel, and disappeared down the road just as the first police cars came screaming around the corner.
Silence.
Thick, heavy, ringing silence.
I stood at the top of the stairs, the pistol still in my hand, my ears ringing, my whole body shaking. I looked down. The entryway was a mess — broken glass, splintered wood, blood on the floor. Three men groaning in pain.
Jacob appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at me, his face streaked with dirt and gunpowder, and held out his hand.
“C’mon,” he said. “It’s over. For now.”
I walked down the stairs and into his arms. He held me tight, kissing the top of my head.
“You were amazing,” he said. “You know that? Fucking amazing.”
“Mom?”
I pulled back.
Standing in the open front door, flanked by two police officers, was Leo.
His eyes were huge. He was staring at the blood on the floor. At the guns in our hands. At the men groaning in pain.
My heart shattered.
“Leo,” I said, dropping the pistol and running to him. “Baby, I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to see this. I —”
He threw his arms around my neck and held on tight.
“I knew it,” he said into my shoulder. “I knew we were spies. That was so cool.”
I looked up at Tyler, who was standing behind him, looking sheepish.
“Sorry,” he said. “He heard the sirens. Kept saying he needed to make sure his mom was okay. I couldn’t say no.”
I held Leo tighter, kissing his hair, crying into it. He was okay. We were all okay. For now.
But as I looked over his shoulder, at the chaos in my parents’ house, at the men being led out in handcuffs, at the fear still lingering in everyone’s eyes… I knew.
May you like
This wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.
