Chapter 11 - The Blue Lights
Marcus carried Clara out of the shattered front entryway into the crisp morning sunlight. The fresh air hit Clara's face, smelling of pine trees and freedom, a stark contrast to the suffocating prison of the Sterling mansion.
Deacon opened the rear door of the Suburban, helping Marcus lay Clara safely onto the reinforced rear bench, propping her up with pillows and securing a seatbelt across her lap with extreme care.
"Vitals are stabilizing, but we need an ultrasound immediately," Deacon said, checking a portable pulse oximeter on Clara's finger. "Nearest trauma hospital is twelve miles east."
"Get us moving," Marcus said, slamming the rear door and walking toward the driver's seat.
Before his hand could touch the handle, the shrill wail of police sirens split the air.
Three black-and-gold county sheriff cruisers tore through the smashed perimeter gates, gravel flying from their tires as they swerved across the circular driveway, boxing in the Suburban in a tactical horseshoe formation.
The cruiser doors flew open simultaneously. Three deputies stepped out, handguns drawn and leveled directly at Marcus and Deacon.
From the lead cruiser stepped Chief Miller, his broad belly straining against his uniform, a thick cigar unlit between his teeth. He held a 12-gauge tactical shotgun pointed at low-ready. Behind the deputies, Trent stumbled out of the front door of the mansion, leaning against his father Richard, his face bruised and full of venomous hatred.
"That's them, Chief!" Trent screamed, his voice hoarse and trembling with rage. "They broke in! They assaulted me! They're trying to kidnap my wife and my unborn child! Shoot them if they move!"
Chief Miller leveled the shotgun directly at Marcus's chest, his thumb flicking off the safety with an audible *clack*.
"Step away from the vehicle, boy," Chief Miller drawled, his eyes cold and unwavering. "Get your hands on top of your head, or I will paint this driveway with you before you take another breath."
Inside the SUV, Clara let out a terrified cry, pressing her hands against the glass.
Marcus didn't raise his hands. He stood tall in front of the vehicle door, his shadow completely shielding his sister from the officers' sights. His right hand drifted subtly beneath the hem of his windbreaker, his fingers wrapping around the grip of his sidearm.
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"That woman in the back is in medical distress caused by domestic abuse," Marcus said, his voice cutting through the wail of the sirens like a blade. "She is going to the hospital right now. And anyone who stands between me and saving my sister's life isn't walking away from this driveway."
Chief Miller stepped forward, raising the barrel directly toward Marcus’s eyes. "Last warning, son."
