Claimed by Tara Crescent

predictably, it did. But underneath the wood was a sheet of metal and it served as a shield of sorts against the gunfire. “Reinforced steel,” Alexander confirmed grimly. “Jean-Luc’s a paranoid old coot.”
    The sounds of the sirens grew closer. The police were drawing nearer. For the moment, it seemed that we were in the free and clear, but only for the moment. Another attack could come at any second.
    ***
    There were two windowless rooms in Alexander’s house. The study and the playroom.
    We were crowded into the former, taking stock. The air was thick with smoke; the ashtray on Alexander’s desk was filled with cigarette stubs. “Damn it,” Jean-Luc cursed as he puffed. “I thought I had quit.” Jean-Luc gritted out.
    I didn’t point out the obvious lie in that statement. “Was it Lucien?” I asked. “Do you know for sure?”
    Jean-Luc handed me his phone. “From the security camera in the building,” he said. On the screen, there was a grainy image of a man with a scraggly beard and greasy hair. It was definitely Lucien. I marvelled at the change in his appearance. He’d really let himself go. He had never been vain, but his beard had always been neatly trimmed. But right now, dishevelled was the kindest word to describe how he looked.
    “Yes, that’s him,” I confirmed. My heart sank. A piece of me had hoped that this was all some horrible misunderstanding. The man who had trained me for many years had never been the most empathetic of companions, but I didn’t think he’d stoop so low.
    But the evidence before me was indisputable. Alexander and I had both been in the line of fire.
    Apart from being competent with a gun, Pavel, one of Alexander’s bodyguards, was also a medic. He was tending to my wounds in a corner. There were some gashes and I gritted my teeth as he plucked pieces of glass from my skin. Thank heavens I’d been cold and had worn a thick sweater. Without it, my skin would have been torn to ribbons. As it was, there was blood everywhere. It probably looked worse than it was.
    Alexander had turned white when he’d seen my wounds and I’d sent him away. It was nice that he was concerned about me, but we were under attack and we all needed to be strong. Of course, had the situations been switched and Alexander been hurt, I would have reacted the same way. I couldn’t blame him too much for his protectiveness. We weren’t really that different, after all.
    “Was anyone else injured?” Alexander’s voice was strained as he spoke. “How did Bectell even get to the building opposite? I thought we’d secured it.”
    “The roof, yes. The apartments, no. He pretended to be a delivery man and entered the Durand apartment. He immobilized them, then fired from their window.”
    “Are the Durands okay?” The question came quickly.
    “They’ll be fine. They are just a little shaken up. Monsieur Durand is a little worse for wear. He tried to fight back.”
    “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Alexander ran his fingers through his hair. “Francois Durand is eighty. Why did he even resist?”  
    “Why do we all do anything?” Jean-Luc asked philosophically. “We just act in the heat of the moment; we don’t stop to think. Don’t worry, he’s alright. Nothing broken.”
    Pavel finished dressing my wounds and I thanked him with a strained smile before I got up to sit next to Alexander. I needed to hold him close after what had just happened.
    Suddenly, the situation had become a whole lot more real. So far, we’d talked and had sex and I’d allowed myself to forget that his life was under threat. Now, it was all I could think about.
    A shuffle at the door caused us all to tense. Jean-Luc’s grip tightened on his gun. There were guards posted at the front door, but after this afternoon’s incident, no one was taking any chances.
    “It’s just me,” the man who entered said, his voice nervous. He held up one hand defensively until the guns lowered. He was skinny, he wore