Chapter 4 Misplaced Revenge, Bathroom Confrontation

# Chapter 4: Misplaced Revenge, Bathroom Confrontation

We'd been on the move for forty-eight hours since escaping the burning remains of Marsh's Pink Palace. Two safehouses, three vehicle changes, and countless security checkpoints later, we arrived at what Marsh called his "ghost property"—a modernist concrete structure built into the side of a mountain, completely off any official records.

Luna had handled the chaos with disturbing composure, treating our desperate escape like an exciting adventure. She'd slept through most of the journey, waking only to ask technical questions about the weapons Marsh's security team carried or to request snacks. My five-year-old daughter was more adaptable to life on the run than any child should be.

"Final security sweep is clear," Marsh announced, entering the sparse living area where Luna was coloring on the floor. "We should be safe here for now."

"Until your father's mysterious posthumous attack squad finds us again?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice. Two days of adrenaline and minimal sleep had stripped away my diplomacy.

Marsh's jaw tightened. "Luna, princess, why don't you explore your new room? Second door on the right. There might be some surprises waiting."

"Okay, Daddy!" She gathered her crayons and skipped away, apparently unfazed by our new surroundings.

The moment she was out of earshot, Marsh turned to me. "We need to talk about what you said. About my father."

"There's nothing to talk about. Your father murdered my family, and now his contingency plan is hunting us. Those are the facts."

"If they were facts, I would have already known." He moved closer, intimidating in his intensity. "I knew everything about my father's operations."

I laughed bitterly. "Clearly not."

Anger flashed in his eyes. "You said you had proof. I want to see it."

"The proof was in my apartment—which your daughter blew up, if you recall. And whatever backup copies I had were in your Pink Palace, which is now ash." I crossed my arms defensively. "Convenient for you, isn't it?"

Something dangerous flickered across his face. "You think I orchestrated all this? Put my own daughter in danger?"

"I think the timing is suspicious. Just as I start telling you uncomfortable truths about your family legacy, everything goes up in flames."

Marsh stepped closer, backing me against the wall. "Let me be very clear, Jocelyn. If I wanted to silence you, there are far simpler ways. What happened at the Palace was not my doing."

Despite his threatening posture, I didn't sense deception. "Then whose?"

"That's what I've been trying to determine." He backed away slightly, running a hand through his hair—a rare gesture of frustration from a man who prided himself on control. "My father had many enemies. So did yours."

"But not many with access to his contingency plans."

Marsh's phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression darkening. "My security team found three more tracking devices on our last vehicle. Professional grade, military spec."

"So they're still following us."

"Trying to." He pocketed the phone. "We have time. This place has jammers and countermeasures that would impress even you, Armitage."

The use of my family name sent an unexpected pang through me. Five years of hiding, of being someone else, had almost made me forget who I truly was.

"I need to shower," I said abruptly, needing space to think. "Where's the bathroom?"

"End of the hall. There are clothes in the cabinet." His eyes lingered on me a moment too long. "We'll continue this discussion afterward."

The bathroom was like the rest of the house—minimalist, functional, expensive. I turned the shower to its hottest setting, letting steam fill the room as I examined my body for injuries. Bruises bloomed across my ribs and back from the explosion at the Pink Palace. A cut on my shoulder had scabbed over without my noticing.

Under the scalding water, I finally allowed myself to process everything that had happened. My carefully constructed revenge plan had imploded spectacularly. Instead of controlling the Marsh empire through Luna from a safe distance, I was now trapped with Alexander Marsh himself, dependent on his resources and protection.

And worst of all, Luna was bonding with him. Calling him Daddy. Drawing pictures of us as a family.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't hear the bathroom door open. The shower curtain was the only warning—a slight movement in my peripheral vision—before I turned to find Marsh standing in the bathroom, gun drawn.

"What the hell?" I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself even as adrenaline surged through my system. "Get out!"

But Marsh wasn't looking at my body. His eyes were cold, focused, scanning the bathroom as if expecting threats from the tile work.

"We need to move," he said, his voice flat. "Now."

"Why? What's happened?"

"One of my men just went dark. Could be nothing, could be—"

The distant sound of breaking glass cut him off. His expression hardened.

"Get dressed. Fast." He tossed me a bundle of clothes from the cabinet. "Meet me in Luna's room in sixty seconds."

He turned to leave, then stopped, his back still to me. "The man who killed my father? It was me."

The confession hung in the air between us.

"He was planning to sacrifice me in a territory dispute with the Vega cartel. I found out, confronted him, and when he pulled a gun..." Marsh shrugged, a gesture somehow more chilling for its casualness. "I was faster."

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me clutching a towel and staring at the space where he'd stood.

I dressed quickly in the clothes he'd provided—practical black tactical pants, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, combat boots that somehow fit perfectly. Either he'd been planning for this scenario, or he'd been paying far more attention to my measurements than I was comfortable with.

When I reached Luna's room, I found her already dressed in similar attire, looking like a miniature special forces operator. Marsh was kneeling beside her, checking the straps on a small bulletproof vest.

"Mommy! Look at my spy costume!" Luna twirled, clearly delighted with her new outfit. "Daddy says we're playing hide and seek with the bad men."

"Is that what Daddy says?" I shot Marsh a pointed look over her head.

"I say we need to move to the lower levels," he replied calmly. "Luna, remember what I showed you about staying low and following instructions?"

She nodded solemnly. "Like soldiers. And no talking until we're safe."

"That's my girl." He straightened up, then handed me a handgun. "Still remember how to use one of these, Armitage?"

I checked the magazine and safety with practiced efficiency. "I was breaking down weapons before I learned algebra, Marsh."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Let's go."

We moved through the house in formation—Marsh leading, Luna in the middle, me covering the rear. The sound of intruders grew closer—boots on gravel, voices communicating in terse commands.

Marsh led us to what appeared to be a solid wall, pressed his palm against a hidden scanner, and revealed a concealed passage. We descended into darkness, the wall sliding closed behind us. Emergency lights flickered on, illuminating a narrow staircase.

"This leads to a bunker with supplies and an escape tunnel," Marsh explained quietly. "From there, we can access the garage on the lower cliff face."

Luna followed the instructions perfectly, moving silently with her hand in Marsh's. I was both proud and disturbed by how well my five-year-old navigated an armed escape.

We had just reached the bottom of the stairs when an explosion shook the building above us, sending dust raining down from the ceiling.

"They're using breaching charges," Marsh muttered. "Professional work."

"Who are these people?" I demanded as we hurried through the bunker toward another door.

"My father's loyal guard. Men who believed in his vision for the organization." He punched a code into a keypad, opening the final door. "Men who see me as a traitor and you as the enemy who corrupted me."

"Me?" I almost laughed. "I've spent five years hiding from you!"

"And yet here we are, co-parenting." His smile was grim as he ushered us into a garage containing a single armored SUV. "Get in. Both of you."

I helped Luna into the backseat, securing her in a child safety seat that looked military-grade. Marsh moved to the driver's side, but froze at the sound of footsteps echoing in the tunnel behind us.

"Jocelyn," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Take this." He handed me a small device with a single button. "If I'm not in the car in sixty seconds, press it and drive. The GPS is preprogrammed to the next safehouse."

"What are you—"

"Stay with Luna." His eyes met mine, something unspoken passing between us. "Protect our daughter."

Before I could protest, he moved back toward the tunnel entrance, weapon raised. I slipped into the driver's seat, keeping the door open, the engine running.

The sound of gunfire erupted from the tunnel. Luna flinched but remained silent, her eyes wide with fear for the first time since this nightmare began.

"Daddy will be okay," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "He's the strongest."

I checked my watch. Thirty seconds had passed. I tightened my grip on both the steering wheel and the gun Marsh had given me.

Forty-five seconds. More gunfire, then silence.

Fifty seconds. I positioned my thumb over the button of the device, heart pounding.

At fifty-eight seconds, Marsh emerged from the tunnel, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. He dove into the passenger seat.

"Drive!" he commanded, and I slammed the accelerator.

We burst from the hidden garage onto a narrow mountain road, tires squealing on the hairpin turns. In the rearview mirror, I could see armed figures emerging from the tunnel, firing at our retreating vehicle. The bulletproof glass held.

"Are you hit?" I asked, noting the blood soaking through his shirt at the shoulder.

"Flesh wound." He twisted in his seat, checking on Luna. "You okay back there, princess?"

Luna nodded bravely. "Did you beat the bad men, Daddy?"

"Not all of them. But I slowed them down." He turned back to me. "Head north. There's another property about three hours from here."

I followed his directions, navigating the treacherous mountain roads as he applied pressure to his wound. After thirty minutes of tense silence, when I was certain we weren't being followed, I pulled into a concealed overlook.

"We need to check that wound," I said, putting the car in park.

Marsh nodded wearily. "Luna, honey, can you pass Daddy the first aid kit under your seat?"

She unbuckled and retrieved a compact medical kit, handing it forward with a serious expression. "Are you going to need stitches? I can help. Mommy taught me how to do them on oranges."

"That's very impressive," Marsh said, sharing a look with me that contained both amusement and accusation. "But I think Mommy will handle this one."

I helped him remove his shirt, revealing a bullet graze across his right shoulder. As I cleaned and dressed the wound, Luna watched with clinical interest from the backseat.

"You're lucky," I told him, applying a pressure bandage. "Half an inch to the left and we'd be having a very different conversation."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," he replied, his eyes holding mine. "I've survived worse."

When I finished, Luna spoke up from the backseat. "Mommy, I need to go potty."

Marsh pointed to a trail leading into the woods. "There's a small cabin about a hundred yards that way. Off-grid, basic supplies. We can rest there briefly."

The cabin was little more than a hunting blind—a single room with a chemical toilet behind a curtain, a woodstove, and some basic provisions. While Luna used the facilities, I checked our surroundings for signs of pursuit.

"We're clear for now," Marsh said, joining me at the window. "But they'll pick up our trail eventually."

"These aren't ordinary hitmen," I observed. "They're moving like a tactical unit with military precision."

"My father's personal security detail. Former special forces, fanatically loyal." He leaned against the wall, fatigue evident in the lines of his face. "After I took control of the organization, most of them disappeared. I assumed they'd moved on to other employers."

"Instead, they were waiting for activation orders from beyond the grave." I shook my head. "Your father really was a piece of work."

"In that, we are in complete agreement." His eyes drifted to Luna, who had emerged from behind the curtain and was exploring the small cabin. "She's holding up remarkably well."

"She's had practice," I said quietly. "We've been running her whole life."

Something like regret crossed his features. "I never wanted this for her."

"Really? Because turning her into a walking detonator at the Pink Palace suggests otherwise."

His jaw tightened. "That was protection, not exploitation. The difference—"

"The difference is intent?" I cut him off. "You still put that responsibility on a five-year-old."

"I gave her power in a powerless situation." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Just like you did by teaching her about weapons and explosives before she could read."

We were interrupted by Luna tugging at his uninjured arm. "Daddy, there's a teddy bear in that cabinet! Can I see it?"

Marsh's expression changed instantly, alarm replacing exhaustion. "Luna, step back." He moved swiftly to the cabinet she'd indicated, examining it without touching. "Jocelyn, take Luna outside. Now."

I didn't question him, grabbing Luna and heading for the door. We were halfway across the clearing when Marsh emerged, holding what looked like a stuffed bear.

"What is it?" I asked, keeping Luna behind me.

"A gift from my father." He held up the bear, showing a small device sewn into its back. "Tracking beacon and listening device. They know we're here."

Luna's eyes widened. "The teddy bear is a spy?"

"Yes, princess. A very bad spy." Marsh set the bear on a rock several yards away. "Cover your ears, both of you."

He fired a single shot, exploding the bear into a cloud of stuffing. Luna gasped, then giggled.

"Bye-bye, spy bear," she said with a wave.

Back in the car, heading north as night fell, Luna finally succumbed to exhaustion. As she slept in the backseat, Marsh turned to me.

"We need to talk about what I said in the bathroom."

I kept my eyes on the road. "About killing your father?"

"About why I did it." He stared out at the darkening landscape. "My father discovered what you'd done—stealing my genetic material. He had a source at the fertility clinic. When he found out about Luna's existence, he wanted to take her. Raise her himself as the next Marsh heir."

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "When was this?"

"Three years ago. I refused. Told him the child—I didn't even know her name then—belonged with her mother. That's when he pulled his gun." Marsh's voice was emotionless, detached. "So you see, I've been protecting Luna longer than you know."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "You knew about us for three years and did nothing?"

"I had you monitored. Kept at a distance. Made sure you were safe." His eyes found mine in the darkness. "Until I saw the surveillance photo of Luna disassembling her toy car to create an improvised alarm system. That's when I knew I needed to be part of her life."

"So you arranged the 'Visitation Day' at your compound," I realized. "You wanted us to come to you."

"I wanted to see my daughter up close. To confirm what I already suspected—that she's extraordinary." He shifted in his seat, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. "I never expected her to announce her presence by dismantling my security chief's sidearm."

Despite everything, I smiled at the memory. "She's always had a flair for dramatic entrances."

We drove in silence for a while, the only sound Luna's soft breathing from the backseat.

"What happens now?" I finally asked. "Your father's men won't stop hunting us."

"No, they won't," he agreed. "Which means we have two options: keep running, or eliminate the threat permanently."

"And how exactly do we eliminate an elite death squad with a five-year-old in tow?"

Marsh smiled, the expression chilling in its confidence. "By using everything we have against them. Including the truth about who really blew up Armitage Technologies."

I nearly swerved off the road. "What are you talking about?"

"The proof you mentioned—I've seen it. Had my own copy for years." His eyes held mine for a moment before returning to the road ahead. "It wasn't my father who planted those bombs, Jocelyn."

My blood ran cold. "Then who?"

The silence stretched between us, filled with unspoken accusations. Finally, Marsh spoke the name that changed everything:

"Your brother."