Chapter 8 - The Price of Loyalty
Jasmine screamed as she crashed onto the cold concrete floor, her head bouncing off the stone. Harper was torn from her grip, the little girl shrieking in terror as a man in a white winter tactical suit lifted her off her feet.
"Got the asset," the man growled into a throat microphone, his face hidden behind a black balaclava. "And the girl from the diner. Moving to the extraction point."
Jasmine, driven by a primal, maternal rage she didn't know she possessed, lunged forward from the floor. She grabbed a dusty, heavy bottle of vintage champagne from a nearby rack and smashed it directly against the side of the intruder’s head. The glass shattered in a spectacular explosion of green shards and dark liquid.
The man groaned, stumbling backward, his grip on Harper loosening. Harper fell to the floor, instantly scrambling into the panic room.
"Lock it, Harper! Lock the door!" Jasmine screamed as the second intruder rushed down the stairs, his pistol raised.
The steel door began to slide shut as Harper, sobbing hysterically, hit the internal emergency strike button. The heavy bolts clicked into place with absolute finality, securing the child inside the impenetrable vault.
The first intruder, bleeding from a deep cut on his temple, turned on Jasmine with a face twisted in rage. He kicked her viciously in the ribs, sending her crashing into the wine racks, dozens of expensive bottles shattering around her like crimson blood.
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"The kid's locked in," the second man spat, looking at the reinforced door. "We don't have the thermite to blow a class-four vault. The boss said the waitress is close to Ford. Take her. She’s our new leverage."
Before Jasmine could fight back, a heavy cloth soaked in chloroform was pressed against her face. The cold, sweet scent filled her lungs, and the darkness of the winter storm swallowed her completely.
