Chapter 7 - The Hidden Path
Richard dragged me across the Persian rug, his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.
He had used a private access tunnel to enter the estate after Arthur initiated the deadly lockdown protocol.
I kicked frantically, my heavy boots connecting solidly with his knee, forcing him to momentarily release his brutal grip.
I scrambled back toward the hidden panel, gasping for any trace of clean oxygen in the toxic room.
Marcus was still fighting a desperate, bloody battle with Arthur near the shattered remnants of the dining table.
Richard drew a heavy revolver from his coat, aiming it directly at my back as I reached the secret doorway.
I threw myself into the dark, narrow passage just as a bullet splintered the wooden frame inches from my head.
I tumbled down a steep, dusty flight of stone stairs, plunging into absolute, suffocating darkness.
The air down here was stale and cold, but it was completely free of the neurotoxin filling the floors above.
I crawled through the spiderwebs and dirt, navigating the secret tunnels my father had built during the Cold War.
I could hear Richard’s heavy footsteps echoing aggressively on the stone steps directly above me.
He was shouting terrifying threats, promising to make my death as slow and painful as possible.
I reached the end of the tunnel, pressing my hands desperately against the cold, damp brick wall.
I found the loose stone my father had shown me when I was just a little girl, pushing it with all my remaining strength.
The heavy brick door swung open, revealing the cavernous, dimly lit underground wine cellar.
I stumbled into the room, searching frantically for a weapon among the dusty, expensive bottles of vintage wine.
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Suddenly, the brilliant beam of a tactical flashlight blinded me completely.
A man stepped out from behind a massive wooden wine cask, racking the slide of a pump-action shotgun.
