POV: Hunter
Crack.
The sound wasn't loud, but in the dead silence of 3 AM, it was a gunshot to Hunter's nervous system. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't the house settling. It was the distinct, sickening sound of wood fibers surrendering to brute force.
His eyes were open before his brain registered the noise. Eight years in Delta Force had rewired his sleep. Sleep was just another vulnerable patrol.
Crack-THUD.
The deadbolt tore free. The front door exploded inward, smashing against the wall. The alarm didn'tt sound. They'd cut the wires. Professional.
Boots. Heavy, hurried, multiple sets. Crashing into his living room below.
Body count: Unknown. Objective: Unknown. Advantage: They think I'm asleep. Disadvantage: They have the ground floor. My rifle is in the safe. My pistol is in the nightstand drawer.
His internal monologue was cold, clean, a checklist. The fear was there, a frantic bird fluttering in his chest, but he locked it in a box. He could panic later. Now, he had to move.
He rolled from the bed, hitting the floor silently. The digital clock glowed 3:02. Tessa was at her mother's. The house was supposed to be empty. They knew the schedule.
"Spread out! Find him!" A gruff voice, trying to be quiet, carried up the stairs.
Five voices. Maybe more. Organized. Not a burglary. A hit.
The word sent a fresh jolt of ice through his veins. Why? Who? The questions were a luxury. Survival was the only mission.
He heard them splitting up. Two sets of footsteps pounding up the stairs direct threat. Three more rummaging downstairs searching. For him? For something?
His bedroom door was closed. He was a shadow in the darkness, pressed against the wall beside the door. The nightstand drawer was three feet away. The Glock inside was loaded. It might as well have been three miles.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. He heard labored breathing. They weren't in shape.
"Check the rooms. You take the left, I'll take the right," a second voice whispered.
Hunter's mind mapped it. The guest room was on the left. His room was on the right. The man coming for him would be the one on the right.
The door to the guest room across the hall squeaked open. A flashlight beam cut the darkness under his door. He held his breath.
His own doorknob turned. Slowly.
They're being careful. They expect a sleeping man, not a soldier.
The door swung open. A large silhouette filled the frame, backlit by the weak hall nightlight. The man held a pistol, sweeping the room. The beam of a small flashlight attached to the gun landed on the empty, rumpled bed.
The man took two cautious steps into the room, turning toward the attached bathroom. He presented his back to the wall where Hunter stood.
It was the opening. The only one he'd get.
Hunter moved. He didn't think. His body remembered the drills. Silent take-down from behind. One hand clamped over the man's mouth, yanking his head back to cut off sound. The other arm snaked around his throat, applying precise pressure to the carotid artery. Fifteen seconds to unconsciousness.
The man struggled, his boots scuffling on the rug. He was strong. Hunter tightened his grip, a vise of pure muscle memory. The man's thrashing weakened. His body went slack. Hunter lowered him silently to the floor, catching the pistol as it slipped from his fingers.
One down.
He quickly patted the man down. No ID. All black clothing. Tactical boots. Professional kit.
"Jake? You got him?" The whisper came from the hallway. The partner from the guest room.
Hunter stepped into the doorway, the stolen pistol held low. The second man was coming out of the guest room, his own gun raised. He saw Hunter, saw the weapon in his hand. His eyes widened in the gloom.
He started to swing his gun up.
Hunter was faster. He didn't shoot. The sound would bring the whole pack. He lunged forward, using the pistol as a blunt instrument. He slammed the grip into the side of the man's head, right at the temple. The man's eyes rolled back. He collapsed like a sack of stones.
Two down.
He dragged the second man into his bedroom, out of the hallway. Three bodies now in the room. The first was starting to groan, coming around. Hunter found a zip-tie in the man's own pocket and secured his hands behind his back. He did the same to the second, using the man's belt to tie his ankles.
He listened. The three downstairs were still busy. He heard a drawer being dumped. A curse. "...map said the office safe. It's not in the desk…"
They have a map.
The cold rage was back, sharper now. This wasn't random. Someone had provided a blueprint of his home, of his life. The betrayal was a physical taste, metallic and sour, in his mouth.
He had to get to the stairs. He had to control the funnel. He moved to the top of the staircase, peering down into the dark living room. One man stood guard by the shattered front door, looking out. The other two were in his office.
The fifth stair from the top always creaked. He avoided it, moving down like a ghost. He was five steps from the bottom when the floorboard under his other foot let out a low, groaning creeeak.
The man by the door whirled around.
He saw Hunter on the stairs.
For a frozen second, they stared at each other. Then the man's rifle came up.
Hunter dropped flat as a deafening roar filled the house. A bullet tore into the wall above him, showering him with plaster dust.
"HE'S UPSTAIRS!" the man by the door bellowed.
Now it was chaos. Now it was a war.
The two men from the office burst out, weapons raised. All three muzzles were pointed up the stairs at him. He was completely exposed.
He scrambled back up on his hands and knees, retreating to the hallway. Bullets chewed up the staircase behind him. He rolled into his bedroom, his heart a drum solo in his ears.
Plan. He needed a new plan. The window. Go out the window, flank them.
As he pushed himself up, a hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed his ankle with brutal strength.
The first man. He was awake. Dazed, but his grip was like iron.
"Gotcha!" the man rasped, a vicious triumph in his voice.
Hunter kicked, but the man held on, pulling him off balance. Downstairs, the footsteps were already charging up the stairs, heavy and fast.
He was pinned. Trapped in his own bedroom with an enemy holding him down as three more charged in to finish the job.
Hunter is held down by the first attacker as the other three charge up the stairs, guns ready.