Teeth gritted, he wed his way toward the fallen gun, ignoring the pain thatnced through his leg. His fingers finally wrapped around the weapon’s grip, and he fired again. One shot. Then another.
Two more men dropped, blood pooling beneath them.
"Damn it!" one of the remaining guards roared. "Kill him already!"
"Don’t you dare shoot my son," Mr. Wace warned through gritted teeth, still clutching his arm. But his voice had no weight now. His men were in survival mode.
"Take the bosses to the car. Leave us behind if you have to," the guard leader said. "Not all of us are making it out."
The guards obeyed, rushing out with their wounded leaders in tow.
One lingered behind.
"You should have just obeyed your father," the man hissed, stepping toward Xander, gun raised. "Or should I say your adoptive father?" He scoffed. "Funny. He gave you everything—and you still shot him."
Xander didn’t flinch, though he knew he couldn’t raise his weapon in time. His strength was draining fast.
The guard aimed. "Goodbye, Xander."
Then—boom.
A single shot, perfectly aimed. A hole bloomed in the center of the guard’s chest, and he dropped like a ragdoll.
Xander blinked in confusion.
A familiar voice called his name.
He turned his head—and saw him. Kace.
The youngest Wace son, his youngest brother.
"Kace?" Xander’s voice cracked, both from pain and disbelief.
Kace rushed to him. "Are you okay?" He asked, an edge in his tone.
Xander stared. He hadn’t seen his brother in nearly twenty years. Not since their father had kicked him out of the house like trash.
"I’m fine," Xander mumbled.
Kace’s gaze dropped to his blood-soaked leg. "No, you’re not."
More gunfire echoed in the distance. Shouts. Screams. The sound of bodies hitting the floor.
Xavier and his men were carving through what remained of Bruce and Mr. Wace’s forces.
The secluded location of the estate—handpicked by Wace to avoid spies—was now working against them. No one was around to hear the bloodshed. No one would interrupt.
The remaining guards, seeing they were abandoned, began to surrender. Others tried to run but were gunned down within seconds. It was a ughter.
Inside the mansion, Xavier kicked down a door, gun drawn. His eyes scanned the room in seconds until theynded on her—Anastasia.
Her clothes were torn and bloodied, her hair messy, and scratches marred her arms, but she was alive. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
"Xavier," she breathed, rushing into his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his heart pounding with relief. "You’re safe," he whispered, holding her more tightly.
"Your father is a maniac," she said against his chest.
"I know," he muttered.
Once he’d confirmed Anastasia was safe, Xavier switched to war mode. He ordered his men to search every escape route. No airport, no train, no border crossing would be left unguarded. Every possible exit point would be watched.
He got on the phone with federal contacts and ordered discreet surveince on anyone connected to Bruce or Mr. Wace. The media was told that Thomas Wace was <i>missing</i>—a clever lie to buy time while the real manhunt began.
"They won’t get far," Kace said, wrapping a bandage tightly around Xander’s wounded leg. "Not if we get to them first."
Xander grunted. "Thanks, Kace."
Kace ignored him. Instead, he walked to Anastasia and hugged her tightly. "You were alive this whole time and didn’t tell me?" he said, voice cracking.
"I wanted to surprise you," she said sheepishly.
"You suck at lying," Kace snapped, pulling back. "Don’t ever do that again." He warned.
Xander watched the exchange from the floor, his heart sinking deeper.
"Xavier," Xander called out, drawing the others’ attention. "Bruce and Wace have hidden properties. I know where some of them are."
Xavier looked at him, a mix of skepticism and curiosity in his eyes. "I’m sure you do," he replied dryly. Then his tone shifted. "But before we do that, there’s something I need you to do first."