Chapter 8 - The Siege of the Sanctuary
The security lights across the property instantly flashed to life, casting harsh, white beams across the muddy gravel driveway.
"They're here," Miles spat, drawing two pistols from his shoulder holsters with practiced speed. He turned to the two security guards standing near the entrance. "Get the perimeter gates locked! Call the main convoy!"
Outside, the sound of heavy tires crunching on gravel echoed through the rain. Two dark SUVs rammed directly through the wooden front gates, sliding to a halt in the center courtyard.
Willa didn't panic. The timid girl from Brooklyn was dead, replaced by a woman who had forged her courage in the fire of Jared Kensington’s world.
She sprinted down the hallway to the main kennel section, where twelve dogs were beginning to bark hysterically. "Titan! Heel!" she commanded.
The giant Mastiff bounded to her side, his body rigid, his deep, terrifying growl shaking the walls.
Outside, gunfire erupted.
POP! POP! POP!
The sharp, deafening cracks of semi-automatic weapons shattered the quiet night. Miles and the sanctuary guards were returning fire from behind the stone pillars of the main office, keeping Victor’s men pinned near the driveway.
Willa grabbed a heavy iron tranquilizer rifle from the medical supply cabinet—a high-powered gun used for sedating large, aggressive wild animals. She loaded a heavy, triple-dose dart into the chamber, her hands completely steady.
Through the reinforced glass of the office window, she saw him.
Brendan.
He was wearing a dark rain slicker, sprinting across the lawn toward the back entrance of the kennels, carrying a short-barreled shotgun. His face was twisted in a manic, insane frenzy. He didn't care about Victor’s war; he only cared about finding Willa.
"Willa!" Brendan’s voice shrieked over the rain and gunfire. "I know you're in there, you bitch!"
He kicked the heavy wooden side door open, bursting into the corridor.
Before he could raise his shotgun, Willa stepped out from the shadow of the kennel aisle, raising the heavy tranquilizer rifle to her shoulder.
PFT!
The pneumatic rifle hissed sharply.
The heavy dart struck Brendan square in the center of his chest. He let out a choked gasp, dropping his shotgun as he reached up to pull the dart from his jacket, but the ultra-potent liquid horse sedative hit his bloodstream within three seconds.
His eyes rolled back into his head. His knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily onto the concrete floor, out cold.
Willa walked over to his unconscious body, standing over him with Titan at her side. She looked down at the man who had tormented her life for years, feeling nothing—no fear, no anger, only an absolute, liberating emptiness.
"It's over, Brendan," she whispered.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the main entrance.
Victor stepped through the shattered glass doors of the lobby, covered in rainwater and blood, holding a heavy revolver. Miles was down on the floor near the desk, clutching a bleeding shoulder wound.
"Kensington!" Victor roared, his eyes wild. "Where is he?!"
Victor turned his head, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Willa standing at the end of the long hallway. A horrific, yellow-toothed smile stretched across his face. "Ah... the little vet girl. Perfect. Let’s see how strong Jared is when I leave your body on his doorstep."
Victor raised his revolver, aiming straight at Willa’s chest.
Willa didn't flinch. She didn't move.
Because standing directly behind Victor, silhouetted against the bright rain and flashing police lights of the driveway, was a shadow taller and far more lethal than anyone in the room.
Jared.
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He didn't say a word. He raised a sleek, silenced weapon, and before Victor could pull his trigger, three soft thuds echoed through the room.
Victor collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet flour, dead before he hit the ground.
