Chapter 4 - The Phoenix Rises
The transition from a quiet maid to a deadly protection specialist took Naomi less than a fraction of a second.
Before the assassin could squeeze the trigger, Naomi lunged.
She didn't run; she exploded forward, her gray uniform skirt tearing slightly as she leaped over a table of champagne flutes. She grabbed a heavy silver serving tray from a nearby cart and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy.
CLANG!
The silver tray struck the assassin squarely in the face just as he fired. The shot went wide, the bullet shattering a crystal chandelier high above, sending a rain of sparkling glass onto the screaming guests.
Panic erupted. Three hundred people began screaming, running desperately toward the main exits, trampling over chairs and tables.
Naomi didn't look at the crowd. Her focus was entirely locked on the target.
The assassin stumbled back, blood dripping from his nose, but he quickly recovered, swinging the gun back toward Harold’s wheelchair.
But Naomi was already there. She closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing his wrist and twisting it upward. The gun fired again into the ceiling. Naomi drove her elbow sharply into his collarbone, followed by a vicious knee to his midsection.
The man gasped, dropping the gun. He was highly trained, quickly throwing a counter-punch aimed at Naomi’s temple. Naomi slipped the punch, grabbed his arm, and used his own momentum to throw him over her shoulder.
He crashed heavily onto a banquet table, splintering the wood into pieces.
"Ethan! Go!" Naomi shouted, scanning the room.
Through the chaos, she spotted two more men in identical waiter uniforms moving toward the east exit, their hands reaching into their jackets. They had anticipated the escape route.
"They’re cut off!" Ethan yelled, desperately pushing his grandfather’s heavy wheelchair toward the kitchen doors.
Naomi sprinted toward the kitchen. She reached the double doors just as one of the armed men pushed through them. Without hesitating, Naomi slammed her foot into the swinging door. The heavy wood struck the man on the other side, sending him flying backward into a metal prep table inside the kitchen.
She burst through the doors, sliding behind a stainless steel counter just as the third assassin opened fire. Bullets ripped through the metal pots and pans, sending sparks flying through the kitchen.
"Noah, stay down!" Ethan yelled to his younger brother, who had run in from the ballroom to help.
Naomi rolled under the counter, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet. She waited for the pause in the gunfire—the precise three-second window when the shooter had to reload.
Click.
Naomi leaped up, launching the skillet. It struck the shooter’s hand, sending his weapon spinning across the slippery tile floor. Naomi closed the distance, delivering a devastating roundhouse kick that sent the man crashing into a rack of industrial baking sheets, knocking him unconscious.
She turned, her breathing controlled, her eyes scanning the kitchen.
All three attackers were down.
Ethan stood near his grandfather’s wheelchair, his jaw dropped, staring at Naomi as if he had just watched a ghost materialize before his eyes. The quiet, gentle maid who made him tea at midnight had just dismantled three highly trained assassins in less than two minutes.
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"Naomi..." Ethan whispered, his voice shaking. "Who... what are you?"
Naomi picked up one of the discarded weapons, checking the chamber with a practiced, professional hand. "I’m the woman keeping your grandfather alive, Ethan. Now let’s get out of here before their backup arrives."
