I walked into my boyfriend’s family barbecue twenty-seven weeks pregnant / Chapter 37 / 63

Chapter 37 - The Vanishing Act

The violent collision of two grown men echoed through the foyer as Tyler tackled his uncle into the curved banister. The antique mahogany cracked under the impact, splintering with the sound of snapping bone.

Thomas reacted with terrifying military precision. Despite his age, his movements were fluid, lethal, and honed by decades of survival in the European underground. He deflected Tyler’s arm, sending the handgun skittering across the floor toward the shattered glass of the patio doors, and drove a savage elbow into Tyler’s ribs.

Tyler grunted in pain, stumbling back, but instantly recovered, driving his fist into Thomas’s jaw. The impact snapped Thomas’s head back, opening a crimson cut over the silver scar on his cheek.

"Get the documents, Clara!" Marcus shouted, diving across the floor to grab the parchment before the rainwater flooding through the broken doors could destroy it.

I didn't care about the papers. I scrambled to the edge of the stairs, watching the two men grapple in the red glow of the emergency lights. Tyler had pinned Thomas against the landing wall, his forearm pressed hard against his uncle's throat.

"It’s over, Thomas," Tyler panted, sweat dripping from his forehead. "You aren't leaving this house."

Thomas coughed, a thin trail of blood leaking from his lip, but his eyes danced with a terrifying, unhinged amusement. "You... really are... Julian's boy," he gasped out. "Blind to the real move."

With a sudden, violent twist, Thomas reached into his trench coat, not for a gun, but for a small, metallic cylinder. He slammed the base against Tyler’s chest and twisted the cap.

A deafening flashbang detonated between them.

A wall of pure white light and a 160-decibel concussion blast tore through the room. I was thrown backward onto the floor, my ears ringing with an agonizing, high-pitched scream, my vision completely erased by burning white spots. I cried out, clawing at the floorboards, trying to orient myself in the blinding chaos.

"Tyler!" I screamed, but I couldn't even hear my own voice over the ringing in my skull.

It took ten agonizing seconds for the smoke to clear and my vision to return in blurry, pulsing waves. Tyler was on his knees at the foot of the stairs, shaking his head violently, blood trickling from his left ear. Marcus was slumped against the kitchen counter, groaning and holding his eyes.

Thomas was gone.

The French doors at the back of the house swung violently in the wind, banging against the shattered frame. Outside, through the sheets of pouring rain, the distant roar of a high-performance twin-turbo engine ripped through the quiet suburban night, fading into the storm before the sound was swallowed entirely.