He Came Home Early and Found a Pet Collar Around His 6-Year-Old Son’s Neck. His New Wife Called It “Discipline”—Until Her Own Mother’s Phone Revealed What They Had Planned Before the Party Even Began. / Chapter 26 / 50

Chapter 26 - Blood Beneath the Kitchen Counter

*CRASH!*

The sound of shattering glass erupted from the first floor directly above them.

The living room picture window had been breached. Heavy boot steps hit the floorboards above, accompanied by the muffled, synchronized thuds of tactical footwear moving into clearing formation. Diane hadn't just sent Garrett to do the job; Garrett had merely been the point man sent to flush them out.

“Mason,” Daniel gasped, the radio dropping from his limp hand.

Garrett, lying in his own blood, glared up at Daniel with a dying man’s venomous triumph. “They’ll burn the house around his ears, Dan. You can’t save him.”

Daniel didn't waste a second. He struck Garrett across the temple with the heavy handle of the wrench, knocking the mercenary unconscious to eliminate the immediate threat. He snatched the fallen nine-millimeter from the bottom of the stairs where it had slid earlier, checked the chamber—one round left—and sprinted up the wooden cellar stairs into the kitchen.

The kitchen was filled with thick, billowing gray smoke.

A CS gas canister hissed violently under the breakfast island, spewing acrid chemical fumes that burned Daniel’s eyes and seared the lining of his throat. Through the haze, two figures moved with professional precision, dressed in all-black tactical gear, carrying suppressed submachine guns.

They weren't family friends. They were private security contractors—mercenaries hired with Diane Vance’s hidden offshore slush funds.

“Clear the kitchen, move to the stairs!” one of the men barked in a low, disciplined whisper.

Daniel dropped behind the granite kitchen island. He grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the drying rack beside the sink with his left hand, holding his firearm ready in his right.

As the first operative swept past the counter, his weapon raised toward the hallway, Daniel lunged upward.

*CLANG!*

The heavy cast-iron skillet connected with the side of the gunman’s tactical helmet with a hollow, bell-like ring, throwing the man off balance. Daniel fired his single remaining nine-millimeter round point-blank into the operative’s exposed thigh.

The man collapsed with a muffled scream, dropped his suppressed weapon, and writhed on the tile floor.

The second contractor pivoted instantly, his muzzle flashing in the smoke.

*Pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft!*

Rounds shredded the granite countertop, showering Daniel in stone shards and powdered drywall. Daniel rolled violently across the floor, grabbed the fallen submachine gun from the wounded contractor, and swept it in a wide arc before the second shooter could correct his aim.

*TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*

A short, controlled burst caught the second man squarely in the chest plate. The kinetic impact slammed the operative backward against the refrigerator, leaving him dazed and gasping for breath as his ceramic armor absorbed the brunt of the kinetic force.

Daniel didn't wait to see if the man would recover. He scrambled past the kitchen archway, leaped over the banister, and took the stairs three at a time through the rising cloud of tear gas, coughing violently, his shirt pulled over his nose and mouth.