VICTOR STRIKES BACK

VICTOR STRIKES BACK
Michelle's Pov

We were celebrating. Victor Kane was arrested and we thought it was over. We thought we were safe.

We were wrong.

It happened at midnight. I was in the bedroom with the twins trying to get them to sleep when I heard the alarm go off downstairs.

"Hayden?" I called out.

No answer.

Then I heard glass breaking. Footsteps. Men's voices shouting.

My heart stopped. Someone was in the house.

I grabbed Hope and James from their cribs and ran to the closet. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped James. I put both babies on the floor and covered them with blankets trying to keep them quiet.

"Shh shh shh," I whispered. "Please be quiet babies. Please."

Hope started crying. I put my hand over her mouth gently trying to muffle the sound.

More footsteps. Closer now. Someone was coming up the stairs.

"Find them," a man's voice said. He had an accent. Russian or Ukrainian. "Check every room."

I heard doors opening and slamming. They were searching the house. Looking for us.

I pulled out my phone and texted Hayden.

"Men in house. Upstairs with twins. Help."

My phone buzzed immediately.

"Stay hidden. I'm coming."

I heard someone try the bedroom door. The handle rattled but it was locked.

"This one is locked," the man said. "They must be inside."

"Break it down," another voice said.

A loud crash as someone kicked the door. Once. Twice. On the third kick it flew open.

I held my breath and pressed myself against the back wall of the closet. The twins were miraculously quiet. Like they could sense the danger.

Footsteps in the bedroom. Someone walked right past the closet. Then back. Then stopped.

The closet door flew open.

A man stood there. Tall and muscular with a snake tattoo on his wrist. Dmitri Volkov. The one who hurt Clara.

"Found them," he called out.

I screamed and tried to push past him but he grabbed my arm. His grip was like iron.

Pain shot up to my shoulder as his fingers tightened, pinning me in place. I twisted, trying to wrench free, but he was stronger—solid, immovable. My heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything else, the room narrowing to the pressure on my arm and the sound of my own ragged breathing.

“Let me go!” I shouted, striking at him with my free hand. Panic surged hot and blinding, turning every thought into instinct: break free, get away, survive.

"Let me go!" I yelled. I kicked at him but he did not even flinch.

"You made a big mistake," Dmitri said. His voice was cold. "Mr. Kane wanted to make a deal. You should have taken it."

"Victor Kane is in jail," I said. "You can't hurt us. The FBI knows we're here."

Dmitri laughed. "The FBI doesn't know anything. And Mr. Kane made bail two hours ago. He sent us to deliver a message."

"What message?" I asked.

"That nobody crosses Victor Kane and lives to tell about it," Dmitri said.

He pulled out a gun and pointed it at me.

I closed my eyes waiting for the shot. But it did not come.

Instead I heard someone yell and then a loud crash. Dmitri let go of my arm and I opened my eyes.

Hayden was there fighting with Dmitri. They were both on the ground, punching each other. Hayden’s face was bleeding, but he kept fighting.

They crashed into a table, sending it skidding across the floor. Dmitri swung hard, catching Hayden in the jaw, but Hayden answered with a brutal shot to the ribs that forced the air from him. Blood streaked across Hayden’s cheek, dripping onto his collar, yet there was no hesitation in him—only raw determination.

“Hayden!” I shouted, struggling against the man holding me.

Hayden wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing red, and drove forward again. He wasn’t fighting clean. He wasn’t fighting careful. He was fighting like losing wasn’t an option.

"Run!" Hayden yelled at me. "Take the twins and run!"

I grabbed Hope and James and ran out of the closet. Another man was in the hallway but Clara hit him with something. A lamp maybe. He went down hard.

"This way!" Clara yelled. She was holding a baseball bat.

We ran down the stairs. I could hear fighting behind us. Hayden and Dmitri still going at it. Things breaking. Men shouting.

The back door was open. That was how they got in. We ran outside into the dark yard.

Cold night air hit my lungs as we stumbled over uneven grass, the smell of smoke heavier back there. The yard, usually quiet and unremarkable, felt unfamiliar—every shadow stretching longer than it should, every rustle in the bushes sounding like footsteps.

The open door swayed slightly on its hinges, tapping against the siding in a slow, hollow rhythm.

“They planned this,” Clara whispered.

I nodded, scanning the tree line, the fence, the neighboring yards. The attack hadn’t been random. It had been deliberate. They hadn’t just wanted to scare us. They had wanted access.

"The car," I gasped. "We need to get to the car."

But our car was blocked in by a black van. Their van.

"Through the woods," Clara said. "Come on."

We ran into the trees. It was dark and I could barely see where I was going. Branches scratched my face. I held the twins so tight they started crying.

Behind us I heard more shouting. A gunshot. Then another.

"Hayden," I sobbed. "We have to go back. We have to help him."

"We can't," Clara said. She grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. "We have to keep moving. That's what he would want."

We ran for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally we came out of the woods onto a road.

A car was coming toward us. For a second I thought it was them. Thought they had found us already. But then the car stopped and Ted jumped out.

"Get in!" he yelled.

We dove into the car and Ted drove off fast. I looked back at the safe house. Smoke was coming from one of the windows. The whole place was lit up with lights.

Red and blue flashes bounced off the trees and nearby houses, turning the quiet street into a chaotic blur. The sharp wail of sirens cut through the night, growing louder as we sped away. My chest tightened as I watched flames flicker behind the glass—small at first, then spreading, feeding on everything we had packed and prepared.

“That wasn’t an accident,” Ted muttered, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I kept staring until the house disappeared around the corner, a sinking realization settling in. This wasn’t retaliation later. It was retaliation now.

"What about Hayden?" I asked. "We have to go back for him."

"I called the police," Ted said. "They're on their way."

"That might be too late," I said. My voice was hysterical. "We have to go back."

"Michelle you have the twins," Ted said. "You have to think about them."

He was right. I looked down at Hope and James in my arms. They were both crying and scared but they were alive. They were safe.

But Hayden was still back there. Fighting those men. Maybe hurt. Maybe worse.

"Please," I begged. "Please go back."

Ted pulled over on the side of the road. "I can't take you back there. But I can go check on him. You and Clara stay here with the twins."

"Be careful," Clara said.

Ted got out and ran back toward the house. Clara and I sat in the car with the twins, trying to calm them down.

The babies were crying now, sharp frightened sobs that seemed too loud for the night. Clara winced as she twisted in her seat, still healing, but she reached back to stroke one small head with shaking fingers. “It’s okay,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

I kept watching the rearview mirror, every second stretching thin. Smoke thickened in the air, drifting across the street in gray waves. Shadows moved near the house—too many to tell who was who.

“Come on, Ted,” I muttered under my breath. “Please.”

"It's okay babies," I said. But my voice was shaking. "Everything is okay."

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. No sign of Ted or Hayden. No sounds of fighting. Just silence.

"What if they're all dead?" I whispered. "What if Dmitri killed them?"

"Don't think like that," Clara said. "Hayden is smart. He'll be okay."

But she did not sound convinced.

Finally headlights appeared on the road. A car coming toward us. I held my breath not knowing if it was friend or enemy.

The car stopped and Hayden got out.

"Hayden!" I screamed. I jumped out of the car and ran to him.

He was covered in blood and limping but he was alive. He was alive.