Chapter 171

Chapter 171
Jack's POV

Nicholas, who'd been with me for six years was the first to fall. A burst of automatic fire caught him in the throat before he could even raise his weapon. His eyes met mine as he collapsed, confusion and fear replacing the determination that had been there seconds before. His blood sprayed across the sterile white floor in a crimson fan.

"Man down!" I yelled, returning fire with controlled three-round bursts. My hands remained steady even as my heart threatened to explode from my chest. "Evans, cover left!"

Evans pivoted just as two more attackers emerged from the stairwell. He managed to drop one before catching rounds in his chest and shoulder, the impact spinning him like a broken marionette before he crumpled against the wall, leaving a smear of red as he slid to the floor.

"Jack, nine o'clock!" Mr. Sterling's voice cut through the chaos.

I whipped around to see Mr. Sterling moving with the precision of a trained operator. His shots were measured and deadly effective. Two attackers fell immediately, clean headshots that spoke of practice beyond what any businessman should possess.

The hallway transformed into a slaughterhouse. Matthews dropped without a sound, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. Chen managed to fire off several rounds before multiple bullets punched through his tactical vest. He looked down at the holes in disbelief before slumping forward.

"They're flanking left!" I shouted to the three men I had left. "Sullivan, grenade!"

Sullivan reached for a flashbang, but never completed the motion. A burst of gunfire tore through his side, spattering the wall with blood and tissue. His scream cut through the gunfire before abruptly silencing.

Through the partially open door, I heard Dr. Brown urging Ms. Lancaster to push.

Mr. Sterling had taken position behind an overturned medical cart, firing with remarkable composure.

A flash of movement caught my eye—too late. An attacker had flanked us from an air duct we'd overlooked, and his bullet caught Mr. Sterling in the left arm. I watched in horror as he staggered backward, a dark stain spreading across his white shirt.

"Sir! You're hit!" I shouted, eliminating the shooter with two quick rounds to the chest before moving to cover Mr. Sterling. My last two men provided covering fire as I pulled him behind a more substantial barricade.

"I'm fine," he growled, though the blood seeping through his shirt told a different story. He raised his gun again, firing another shot down the corridor with remarkable steadiness for a wounded man.

I checked his wound quickly—through and through, no arterial damage. He'd live, assuming we survived the next few minutes. I looked around at what remained of my team—half a dozen bodies in various states of destruction, men I'd personally selected and trained. Men who trusted me to make the right calls. Parker and Wilson were the only ones still standing, both bleeding from multiple wounds but fighting with desperate determination.

"We hold this position," I said through gritted teeth, reloading my weapon with mechanical precision despite the blood—my men's blood—making my fingers slick. "No one gets through to that delivery room. No one."

Our ammunition was nearly spent. Parker took a bullet to the thigh and went down hard. Wilson covered him, but caught a round in the shoulder for his trouble. It was just Mr. Sterling and me now, the last line of defense.

Then it happened—they broke through.

Three attackers rushed past us toward the delivery room doors while their comrades provided covering fire. I couldn't reach them in time. They kicked open the doors, weapons raised.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then came a roar of rage from inside.

"What the fuck is this?" The leader emerged from the delivery room, holding a small digital recorder in his hand, his face contorted with fury. "There's nobody here! Just this fucking recording!"

Blood streaming from a gash on my forehead, I laughed—a harsh, painful sound that surprised even me. "All this for nothing," I taunted, watching his face darken with rage. "You killed my men for an empty room and a tape recorder."

"Where is she?" he demanded, storming toward me, gun pointed at my face. "Where's the woman?"

"Somewhere you'll never find her," I spat back, tasting blood on my lips.

The man's face twisted in frustration. He backed away, barking orders to his remaining men. "Fall back! This was a setup! Move out now!"

As they turned to retreat down the stairwell, Mr. Sterling suddenly pushed himself to his feet, his bloodied shirt stark against the white wall. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Want to leave?" he called after them, his tone deceptively conversational. "It's not that simple."

Mr. Sterling caught my eye and gave me the slightest nod—a signal we'd established years ago. I knew instantly what it meant. With practiced subtlety, I shifted my weight, preparing for what would come next.

In one fluid motion, I grabbed Mr. Sterling around the waist and pulled him through the emergency exit door behind us—a door that had been carefully left unlocked for precisely this purpose. The attackers fired immediately, bullets splintering the door frame as we tumbled through.

I slammed the reinforced door shut behind us, hearing the satisfying click of the automatic locks engaging. We found ourselves in a small service corridor, dimly lit by emergency lighting.

"Keep moving," Mr. Sterling ordered, pulling a small device from his pocket as we staggered down the corridor. "We have ten seconds."

I half-carried him as we moved as quickly as his injury would allow, counting silently in my head. We turned a corner and pressed ourselves against the wall just as Mr. Sterling pressed the button on the device in his hand.

The explosion wasn't as loud as I expected—more of a controlled demolition than a bomb. But I felt the vibration through the walls as the carefully placed charges detonated, bringing down the ceiling of the delivery room area and the surrounding corridor. The hospital had been partially under renovation, giving us the perfect cover to install the contingency measures without raising suspicion.

Dust filtered through the ventilation system as distant screams and the sound of collapsing debris reached us. The attackers were now trapped under tons of concrete and steel—a tomb of their own making.

"They'll never get out of there," I said, adjusting my grip on Mr. Sterling as we continued moving away from the blast zone.

Mr. Sterling's face was pale from blood loss, but his eyes burned with cold satisfaction. "They came to kill my child before it was even born," he said quietly. "They deserved worse."

I couldn't disagree. "We need to get you medical attention, sir."

"Not yet," he insisted. "First, take me to Hannah."