Page 61 of Rescuing Ember

Blaze

As the night wears on,Ember finally drifts off to sleep, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. I sit there, perfectly still, listening to her steady breathing and feeling more at peace than I have in years.

But peace, I’ve learned, is fleeting.

A sudden noise from outside snaps me to attention. I ease Ember off my shoulder, lowering her gently onto the sofa. Drawing my weapon, I move silently toward the window.

The street outside is quiet, too quiet. No traffic, no pedestrians. No police guarding the outside of the townhouse. There’s just a stillness that sets my nerves on edge.

Then I see it—a flash of movement in the shadows across the street. My blood runs cold as I realize what’s happening.

We’re compromised.

“We need to move. Now.” I quickly shake Ember awake.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes fly open, instantly alert.

“Get down behind the sofa. Stay low and don’t move unless I tell you to.”

Ember nods, fear and determination warring in her eyes. She slides off the sofa, pressing herself against the floor.

I position myself near the front door, my back to the wall, weapon at the ready. My heart pounds in my chest, but my hands are rock steady. Years of training kick in, leaving only cold focus.

The front door explodes inward, wood splintering as two figures burst through. The crash echoes through the room, followed by the tinkling of broken glass.

I don’t hesitate.

My first shot catches the lead attacker in the shoulder, spinning him around. A second man, lean and wiry, ducks and returns fire.

I drop and roll, bullets whizzing overhead, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. The harsh smell of gunpowder fills the air.

A crash shatters the night’s silence. Glass shards litter the floor as dark figures pour through the windows. The cool night air rushes in, carrying the scent of the city—exhaust fumes and damp asphalt.

My weapon’s up before I can think. Muscle memory takes over.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three shots. Three bodies hit the floor. More keep coming.

“Find the girl,” a gruff voice barks.

Aria?

Or Ember?

Ice floods my veins. Not on my watch.

Two more men burst through the front door. I pivot, squeezing the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

“Shit.”

No time to reload. I stow my weapon. My fists come up as the first attacker reaches me. He’s tall and lean, with a scar across his left cheek.

Block. Counter. Punch.

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