Chapter 48: Gunfire and Promises

The ballroom still shimmered with the illusion of elegance when Mindy turned toward Wade and Ana. The orchestra’s final notes were fading, the laughter thinning into uneasy murmurs. Something in the air had shifted—too quiet, too heavy.

Mindy’s voice was calm, steady. "Remember what you promised? Stick to Wade and me."

Ana blinked, confused. "What’s going on?"

Mindy reached for her hand, her grip firm but gentle. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just stay close."

Her tone was so composed that it almost sounded casual. But Wade caught the flicker in her eyes—the same look she’d had years ago when she’d first learned how to aim a gun.

Mindy glanced at him. "Let’s go upstairs."

"Ana," she added, "you booked a suite, right?"

Ana nodded slowly. "Yes. It’s under Bose Media."

"Good. Let’s go."

They moved quickly but without panic, weaving through the crowd as the music faltered. The chandeliers above them trembled slightly, the lights flickering once, twice—then everything went black.

The darkness was absolute.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then came the sound.

Gunfire.

Not one shot. Not two. A storm of bullets tearing through the silence.

Screams followed. Glass shattered. Someone shouted for help.

Mindy froze for half a second, her instincts kicking in before fear could. She tightened her hold on Ana’s hand. Wade’s silhouette appeared beside her, calm, composed, his voice low. "Stay down."

The lights flickered back to life in stuttering bursts, revealing chaos. Guests were running in every direction, heels snapping, champagne spilling across marble floors. The orchestra had vanished from the stage.

Ana’s voice trembled. "What’s happening? What’s going on?"

Neither Mindy nor Wade answered.

Mindy’s grip on her hand tightened.

Two men in black suits came sprinting down the corridor—the Wilson family’s bodyguards. They stopped when they saw her, their faces pale but focused.

"Miss Wilson," one said quickly, "we came from your suite. It’s secure."

Wade nodded once. "Let’s go."

They moved fast, cutting through the confusion toward the elevators. The fourth floor was quieter, the chaos below muffled by distance.

The Bose suite was at the end of the corridor. The bodyguards handed over two pistols—sleek, compact, familiar.

Mindy accepted hers without hesitation. Wade checked the magazine, chambered a round, and nodded.

Ana’s eyes widened. "You both—what—why do you even know how to use those?"

Mindy didn’t answer. She guided Ana into the suite, closing the door behind them.

"Listen," she said softly, "nothing’s going to happen to you. They’re after one man. You’ll be safe here. These two will stay with you."

Ana shook her head, panic rising. "No! No, stay with me! You’ll stay with me!"

Mindy’s voice stayed calm, almost soothing. "I have to go. There’s something I need to do. Don’t worry about me. No one’s going to touch me. And Wade’s with me."

She smiled faintly. "I made a promise. I have to keep it."

Wade grinned, trying to lighten the air. "Don’t worry. We’ll all go have something good to eat after this. You’ll see."

He turned to the bodyguards. "Stay with her. Don’t leave her side."

They nodded immediately.

Ana looked at both of them—so calm, so steady, as if they’d done this before. "You’re not even scared," she whispered.

Mindy’s lips curved slightly. "Fear wastes time."

Ana tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "You two are insane."

"Probably," Wade said.

Something about his tone made her snort despite herself.

Mindy and Wade exchanged a brief glance, silent understanding passing between them. Then they opened the door and stepped out.

The hallway was empty.

Too empty.

They moved in silence, guns drawn, every step measured.

Years Earlier

The smell of gun oil and old wood filled the Wilson estate’s training hall. Mindy had been seventeen, standing awkwardly in front of a row of targets. Jasper Wilson’s voice echoed through the room.

"Talent is useless if you can’t protect yourself."

She had rolled her eyes then, thinking it was another one of his lectures. "Grandfather, I’m a designer, not a soldier."

"Designers can be targets too," he’d said simply.

Wade had been there, already comfortable with the weight of a pistol in his hand. He’d been adopted into the Wilson family a few years earlier, and while he’d always been easy going, there was a quiet determination in him that Mindy had never understood until that day.

"I want to protect my family," he’d told Jasper. "If I’m going to have one, I need to know how."

Jasper had nodded approvingly. "Then you’ll teach her."

Mindy had groaned. "Oh, wonderful."

The first time she fired a gun, the recoil had nearly knocked her backward. Wade had caught her elbow, laughing softly. "You’ll get used to it."

She had glared at him. "I hate this."

"You won’t," he’d said. "Not when it matters."

Over the years, the training had become routine. Mornings spent in the dojo, evenings at the range. Jasper had insisted on martial arts, too—discipline, precision, control.

Mindy had resisted at first, but she’d learned quickly. Her movements became sharper, her aim steadier. Wade had been her partner through it all, patient and relentless.

They’d sparred until their arms ached, practiced until their fingers bled.

And somewhere along the way, fear had stopped being part of the equation.

They didn’t train to fight. They trained to survive.

And now, years later, that training would save lives.

The second floor was a war zone.

Gunfire echoed through the corridors, sharp and relentless. The air smelled of smoke and metal.

Mindy and Wade moved like shadows, their steps silent, their breathing steady.

A masked man turned the corner ahead of them, rifle raised.

Wade didn’t hesitate. One shot. Clean. The man dropped.

Another came from behind, drawn by the sound. Mindy pivoted, fired low. The bullet hit his knee. He screamed, collapsing.

A third burst from a nearby room, weapon half-raised. Mindy’s second shot caught him in the shoulder before he could aim.

They moved in sync, covering each other’s blind spots, their rhythm seamless. Years of training had turned instinct into choreography.

By the time they reached the end of the corridor, the floor was littered with shell casings and silence.

Most of the guests had fled. The few who remained were hiding behind overturned tables and shattered furniture.

Wade crouched beside a fallen man in a tuxedo—Zac Turner. Blood stained his shoulder, but he was conscious.

"Zac," Mindy said quickly, kneeling beside him. "You’re hit."

He winced but managed a grin. "Just a scratch. Bullet grazed me."

"Where’s Matthias?"

"First floor," Zac said, his voice tight. "They came from the basement when the lights went out. Fire exit stairs. Cowards."

Wade checked the wound. "You’ll live. Can you walk?"

Zac nodded. "I’ve had worse."

They helped him to his feet.

"Then let’s move," Mindy said.

The first floor was chaos.

Gunfire rattled the chandeliers, glass raining down like glittering shards. The lobby was a battlefield—bodies sprawled across marble, blood streaking the floor.

On one side, Matthias King and Dante stood behind an overturned table, three bodyguards beside them. Their return fire was precise but dwindling.

On the other, more than ten masked men crouched behind pillars, rifles flashing in the dim light.

Mindy took in the scene in seconds. "We can’t go straight through."

Wade nodded. "Flank them."

She gestured toward the far corridor. "Back stairs. Oval layout. We’ll come around behind them."

Zac followed without question.

They moved quickly, climbing to the upper level, then circling back down another staircase. The noise grew louder with every step—the crack of gunfire, the shouts, the chaos.

When they reached the lower landing, they could see the masked men’s backs. Ten of them, focused entirely on Matthias’s position.

Mindy raised her hand, signaling silence.

They slipped behind a row of pillars.

Wade took the first shot.

One down.

Mindy followed.

Two.

Zac, despite his injury, fired next.

Three.

The masked men spun around, startled.

Too late.

Bullets tore through the air, echoing off marble and glass. The ambush hit them hard, splitting their formation. Matthias’s men seized the opening, firing back with renewed force.

The lobby erupted into chaos again, but this time, the tide had turned.

Mindy moved with precision, her shots deliberate. Wade covered her flank, his aim unerring. Zac’s shoulder bled, but his grin was feral.

Within minutes, the masked men were down.

Smoke hung in the air, thick and acrid.

Matthias lowered his weapon slowly, scanning the room. His eyes caught a familiar silhouette through the haze—slender, poised, a gun still in her hand.

Mindy Wilson.

For a moment, he just stared.

Then he smiled faintly. "Didn’t expect you here."

Mindy’s lips curved. "Told you I’d protect you."

Dante exhaled, half laughing. "You weren’t kidding."

He turned to Zac and punched his uninjured shoulder lightly. "Thought you were gone."

Zac winced. "It just took me by surprise."

The tension broke for a heartbeat.

Then the world snapped again.

A faint sound—a scrape of metal against marble.

One of the masked men, thought dead, was moving. His hand trembled as he raised his gun, aiming straight at Matthias’s back.

Mindy saw it first.

"Matthias!"

She moved before anyone else could react, shoving him aside.

Two shots rang out.

One from the masked man.

One from somewhere behind her.

Pain tore through her stomach, sharp and searing. The impact drove the air from her lungs. She stumbled, her knees buckling, the gun slipping from her fingers.

The noise around her blurred into a dull roar. Her vision swam.

She could see Matthias turning, his mouth moving, shouting something—but she couldn’t hear him.

The shock hit fast. Her ears rang, her heartbeat thundered in her chest, and then even that sound began to fade.

She looked down. Blood was spreading across the red fabric of her gown, darker than the silk itself.

Her body felt heavy, distant.

Someone was yelling her name—Wade, maybe. Or Zac. She couldn’t tell.

Everything was muffled, like she was underwater.

Her knees gave out completely.

As she fell, she caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of her vision—Layton Knight, standing near the entrance, gun raised.

Two sharp cracks split the air.

The last two masked men dropped before they could fire again.

Layton’s face was pale, his expression raw with something she hadn’t seen in years—fear.

He ran toward her, shouting her name, but she couldn’t hear him.

Her vision dimmed, the edges going black.

The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was Layton’s face—worried, desperate—and Matthias’s arms catching her before she hit the ground.

Then everything went dark.

Aftermath

Matthias caught her as she collapsed, his arm sliding under her shoulders before she could hit the marble. Blood soaked through his sleeve instantly, warm and slick.

"Stay with me," he said sharply, pressing his hand against the wound. The blood kept coming, seeping between his fingers. "Call an ambulance! Now!"

Dante was already moving, scanning the room for any remaining threats. "On it!"

Wade dropped to his knees beside them, his face tight with control. "She’s losing too much blood."

Matthias didn’t look up. "Keep pressure here."

He pressed harder, his jaw clenched, his voice low but steady. "You’re going to be fine. Just hold on."

Mindy didn’t respond. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale.

Layton reached them seconds later, his gun still in his hand, his expression stricken. "Is she—"

"Alive," Matthias snapped. "But she won’t be if we don’t move."

Layton dropped to the floor beside them, his composure gone. "I’ll call the car. The ambulance will take too long."

"Do both," Matthias said. "We’re not waiting."

Wade’s phone was already in his hand. "I’ll handle Ana," he said quickly. "She’s still upstairs."

He stepped aside, voice low and urgent as he spoke into the phone. "Get Miss Bose out of the hotel. Take her home. Don’t stop anywhere. Two men stay with her until I say otherwise."

When he turned back, Matthias was lifting Mindy carefully, his movements precise despite the blood staining his suit.

"Dante," Matthias said, "check the rest of the floor. Make sure it’s clear."

Dante nodded once and disappeared down the corridor.

Layton followed Matthias toward the exit, his steps quick, his face pale. Zac, clutching his injured shoulder, trailed behind them.

The hotel lobby was chaos—sirens wailing outside, guests crying, security shouting orders—but none of them stopped.

Matthias carried Mindy through the shattered doors, his jaw set, his eyes fixed ahead.

Layton was beside him, shouting for the car.

Wade and Zac cleared the path, pushing through the crowd.

Within minutes, they were in the back of a black sedan, speeding through the rain-slick streets toward the hospital.

Mindy’s head rested against Matthias’s shoulder, her breathing shallow. His hand never left the wound, pressing down to slow the bleeding.

Layton sat opposite them, his hands clenched, his face drawn tight with panic.

He had known there would be danger tonight. That was why he hadn’t wanted her here.

But when the first gunshots had echoed through the ballroom, he had sent his bodyguards to find her.

They hadn’t.

By the time he saw her again, she was falling.

Two hours later, the sterile white of the hospital corridor felt almost unreal.

The four men sat in silence—Matthias, Layton, Wade, and Zac—each lost in his own thoughts.

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly.

Every time a nurse passed, they looked up. Every time footsteps echoed down the hall, they straightened.

Finally, the door to the operating room opened.

A doctor stepped out, removing his gloves. "She’s stable," he said. "The bullet didn’t damage any major organs. We’ve removed it successfully. She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s going to be fine."

The tension broke all at once.

Wade exhaled, shoulders sagging. Zac leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Matthias’s hands, still stained faintly with dried blood, unclenched.

Layton didn’t move. He just stared at the doctor, as if the words hadn’t registered.

"She’s... alright?" he asked finally.

The doctor nodded. "She’ll need rest, but yes. She’s out of danger."

Layton’s breath left him in a rush. He turned away, pressing a hand to his face.

When he looked back, Matthias was watching him.

"You knew this was coming," Matthias said quietly.

Layton didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

The silence between them said enough.

Outside, the rain still fell, steady and cold against the hospital windows.

Inside, the four men waited—each of them bound, in that moment, by the same thought.

Mindy Wilson had walked into danger to save a man’s life.

And every one of them knew they would never forget it.