Twists Of Fates

Twists Of Fates
Peter held Sharon's hand, pulling her through the mansion's tunnels to the grand foyer. Chris followed, his gun held low, and they moved toward the front door. The chandelier above them flickered, casting dancing shadows on marble with an unearthly light. Engines shrieked outside—Addicus's convoy skidded to a stop yards from the door.

Peter's hold on Sharon tightened. Not this time, he cursed, the loss of Jane and Debora in the hurricane haunting him again. He wasn't releasing her.

Addicus stepped out of his car, ten men fanning out, guns drawn. He flicked his cigarette onto the ground, where it was stamped out underfoot, and clapped sarcastically. "Great idea, Peter," he taunted. "You nearly got me. But you didn't, and now you die.".

Jinx, in her perch in the trees, had Addicus's head in her sights. Her trigger finger was tight, but movement inside the house distracted her—a guard moving behind Chris, gun raised. She spun around, firing a single shot into the wall. The guard's head jerked back, blood spattering everywhere.

"Sniper!" yelled Will. Addicus's men shot, bullets ricocheting off the doorframe. Peter shoved Sharon aside, going down on the floor with Chris, and shoved the door shut.

"Sharon, are you okay?" Peter inched over to her on his belly.

"Fine," she gasped. "But they're coming. We have to hide."

"Two rounds left," said Chris, staring at his clip. "Not enough."

"Get some place to hold out," said Peter, grasping them under the arms and drawing them upright. They moved, footsteps echoing in the vacant house.

Outside, Jinx picked off targets, her sniper echoing through the night. Two guards dropped, skulls shattered, but Addicus, Will, and three others sprinted for the door, dodging her bullets. "Damn it," Jinx swore, trading her rifle for dual SMGs. She strapped on more guns, climbed onto her motorcycle, and sped towards the mansion.

Addicus burst in, fury etched on his face. "Search every inch," he snarled at his men. "Find them. Kill them. No one leaves alive. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," they replied in a chorus, dispersing, rifles poised.

Peter, Sharon, and Chris made their way through the maze of corridors, guns cocked. Two guards around a corner, and a brief firefight ensued—Peter's silenced shots dispatched them, blood pooling on the hardwood. "Where can we hide, Sharon?" he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice tight. “It’s been years—everything’s different.”

“We’re exposed here,” Chris said, glancing back.

They reached a corner, and Peter signaled a halt. Peering around, he spotted five heavily armed guards approaching, their boots thudding. “Five, twelve o’clock, closing fast,” he whispered.

“What now?” Chris asked, grip tightening.

Peter raised his gun. “We fight.”

Sharon’s eyes met his, fear mingling with trust. “Peter?”

It'll be alright, love," he whispered, smiling against the odds. He tightened his grip on her hand for an instant eternity, then released it, bracing himself for battle.

As the guards came near, a door at the far side creaked open. Martha stood in it, gazing. "This way," she whispered.

Relief flooded Sharon. They moved inside, the door thudding shut behind them just as the guards passed by. Quiet held until the footsteps faded.

"Martha, you're a lifesaver," Sharon said, hugging her. "I didn't know you were here."

"Heard shots from the kitchen," Martha said, regarding Peter. "Thought it was you, though you said tomorrow."

"Couldn't wait," Peter said, looking guilty. "Sorry for the surprise."

Sharon paced the room, realization dawning. "This is the safe room," she said. "Five years ago, you brought me in here after Addicus killed my parents. His first attempt at killing me."

"Long ago, but here we are," Martha said, her voice thick.

"Fate's a joke," Sharon said, a sour smile spreading.

"Yes," Martha concurred.

The room was a fortress—steel-reinforced walls, one door, medical supplies stacked from its hospital days. Peter had one clip left to count. Chris had two bullets. Sharon's gun was half-full. "We can hold here," Peter said. "Funnel them through the door."

"Addicus won't stop," Sharon warned. "He's come back, and he wants us dead."

"Jinx is coming," Chris announced. "She'll even the playing field."

Outside, Jinx's motorcycle skidded up, tires smoking. She jumped off, SMGs ready, and slid through a side door. Her thermal scope throbbed, picking up heat signatures—guards walking, unaware. She moved silently, knives flashing to take down two before they could scream.

Inside, Addicus stalked the halls, Will at his side. "They're here," he growled, his gun tight in his fist. "I can feel it." His men reported two more dead, throats slashed. "We have another stalking us," Will said, uneasy.

Peter's radio beeped. "Jinx, status?" he whispered.

"Inside," she replied. "Three guards are down. Going to you. Where are you?"

"Safe room, east wing," Peter said. "Come quick."

"Coming," Jinx said, cutting the throat of a guard.

Sharon clutched Peter's arm. "What if he gets to us first?"

"He won't," Peter said, though terror gnawed. The room was a trap, walls closing in. Martha lit a candle, its flame dancing on the walls—ghosts of loss, of storms, of broken promises.

There was a gentle scratch on the outside, not boots but something softer and considerate. Peter raised his gun, thumping heart. The door shut, but the air thickened, as though the house itself were holding its breath, expecting blood.