Home Sweet Home III

Rachel and Sujin were guided into a room down the dimly lit hall. It was a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the mansion's corridors—a space of opulence and indulgence. The walls were adorned with intricate golden patterns, and the furniture was lavishly upholstered in deep reds and golds. A massive bed dominated the room, where five small children slept soundly, their forms curled together like a scene of innocence amidst chaos. Two women sat nearby, one on the edge of the bed and the other reclined on an elegant sofa. Their regal posture and the sharp intensity of their gazes made Rachel and Sujin feel impossibly out of place.

The silence stretched uncomfortably before one of the women broke it, her tone cold yet mildly curious. "So," she began, her lips curving into a faint smirk, "are the two of you his girlfriends? Or just one?"

Rachel and Sujin froze. Sujin opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. Rachel shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The question was as intrusive as the women's unyielding stares, and neither could muster a proper response.

Before the awkward tension could thicken further, the door creaked open again. The air in the room shifted immediately as a tall, lean figure entered. Marco Escobar—or Doo Lee—stumbled in, his bare upper body catching the room's attention. His chiseled physique was marked by scars that seemed like battle trophies, each one telling a tale of survival. His tousled black hair hung loosely over his face, and a faint smirk played on his lips as he exhaled the smoke from the cigar dangling between them.

His unfocused eyes scanned the room, not truly seeing, a testament to the alcohol clouding his mind. Without a word, he staggered toward the bed and collapsed onto it, his weight sending the children and Sujin bouncing slightly as he sprawled across the mattress. His head came to rest on Rachel's lap, her expression shifting from shock to discomfort in an instant.

Rachel's cheeks turned crimson, her hands instinctively hovering above him as though unsure whether to shove him off or stay perfectly still. Sujin rolled off the bed in a tangle, glaring at Marco with wide eyes, but before anyone could speak, the tension shifted once again.

A sudden, deliberate hand reached out, plucking the cigar from Marco's lips and tossing it aside with a scowl. Standing before him was a woman with striking features, her face contorted in a mix of frustration and relief. Mariah Escobar, Marco's half-sister, looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

Without a word, Mariah threw her arms around Marco, pulling him into a desperate hug. The sheer force of her embrace made Marco cough slightly, the last of the smoke escaping his mouth. His arms slowly came up to return the gesture, a rare softness flickering in his drunken state.

From the corner of his eye, Marco caught the gaze of the second woman, who offered him a small, almost amused smile. "Emily Escobar," she introduced herself with a calm elegance. "Your sister-in-law."

Marco gave a half-nod, more out of politeness than understanding, before turning back to Mariah. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead—a fleeting moment of affection that seemed uncharacteristic for him—and then shifted his focus to Rachel. His gaze lingered on her face, noting the faint bruise on her lips from earlier.

A lopsided smirk tugged at his lips as he snuggled deeper into her lap, his body relaxing as sleep began to pull him under. Rachel sat frozen, her mind racing with a mix of confusion and mortification. The children, now fully awake, gawked at Marco with wide eyes, their expressions a mix of awe and curiosity.

"Look at those scars!" one of them whispered excitedly.

"Is he a warrior?" another murmured, their gaze tracing the deep, jagged lines that crisscrossed his chest and arms.

"He looks like a superhero," a third said, their voice filled with wonder as they took in Marco's towering frame and the faint remnants of battles etched into his skin.

Rachel hesitated for a moment, her breath catching as her gaze drifted to Marco's chest. The scars etched across his body told stories of battles she couldn't even begin to imagine—some old and faded, others fresh and jagged. Her fingers moved instinctively, brushing lightly over one of the deeper scars near his shoulder. The rough texture beneath her fingertips made her stomach twist with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Marco stirred slightly at her touch, letting out a low, almost content hum, though his eyes remained shut. Rachel's face flushed a deeper shade of red, and she quickly withdrew her hand, her heart pounding in her chest.

But before the surreal moment could settle, the muffled sound of shouting erupted from outside the mansion. Rachel and Sujin froze, their heads snapping toward the window as a sharp, deafening crack split the air. Gunshots.

The children on the bed jolted awake, their sleepy confusion quickly replaced by fear as they clung to one another. The two women—Mariah and Emily—sprang into action, their composed demeanor vanishing in an instant.

"Stay here. Keep them safe," Mariah barked at Emily before turning to Marco. Her voice was tinged with both urgency and anger as she grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Marco, wake up! They're here!"

The room plunged into chaos as the sounds of gunfire outside grew louder, punctuated by shouts and heavy footsteps approaching the mansion. Mariah and Emily moved with the kind of precision that spoke of years of practice, their faces set with grim determination.

Rachel and Sujin struggled to move Marco's heavy, unconscious body off the bed, grunting with effort as they managed to roll him onto the floor. He groaned faintly but didn't stir further, his sheer size making the task almost impossible.

"Under the bed!" Mariah hissed, pointing sharply.

With a mix of panic and adrenaline, Rachel and Sujin pushed and kicked Marco under the bed, his broad shoulders barely fitting in the cramped space. The children, trembling and wide-eyed, scampered into the closet as Emily opened it and motioned for them to hide.

"Stay quiet," Emily said firmly, her voice low but commanding. She shut the closet door softly, leaving only a thin crack for air.

Rachel and Sujin slid under the bed alongside Marco, their breathing shallow and rapid. His presence beside them felt both reassuring and terrifying—reassuring because of his strength, terrifying because of his vulnerability in this state.

Mariah and Emily stationed themselves on either side of the door, weapons at the ready. Mariah held a sleek handgun, her knuckles white around the grip, while Emily hefted a shotgun, her stance steady.

The muffled thud of boots against the mansion's polished floors echoed closer, each step more ominous than the last. A shadow passed under the doorframe, and then the handle rattled.

Rachel's heart stopped. She clutched Sujin's hand tightly, trying to stifle the tremble in her fingers. Marco's chest rose and fell steadily beside them, oblivious to the tension choking the room.

The door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of a man clad in black tactical gear. He stepped in cautiously, scanning the room, his weapon at the ready.

Mariah didn't hesitate. A sharp crack echoed through the air as she fired the first shot, hitting the man square in the chest. He stumbled back, colliding with the doorframe as Emily unleashed the shotgun, sending him crashing to the ground.

Another set of footsteps thundered down the hall, and Mariah and Emily exchanged a quick glance. "They won't stop," Emily muttered.

"We hold them off here," Mariah replied, her voice steely.

Under the bed, Rachel and Sujin pressed themselves against the floor, every nerve in their bodies on edge. The tension was suffocating as the sound of more gunfire erupted, shaking the room. Marco remained unconscious, oblivious to the storm raging around him.

Sujin whispered to Rachel, her voice trembling, "What do we do if they find us?"

Rachel swallowed hard, her gaze darting to Marco. "We pray he wakes up."

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The man in the dining room, James, darted his eyes toward the windows and doors as the gunfire grew louder, the echoes shaking the mansion's walls. He clenched his fists, his senses sharp and body tense, ready for the inevitable confrontation. The faint creak of the floor above him caught his attention, and his gaze flicked upward. Despite the chaos, knowing Marco was up there gave him a flicker of reassurance.

But that fleeting moment of calm shattered as a voice whispered in his ear, low and cold: "Don't be distracted, James."

His heart leapt, and he spun around, just in time to see a figure emerge from the shadows. A punch flew toward him, fast and calculated. James raised his arm instinctively, blocking the blow with his forearm. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, but he managed to maintain his stance.

The assailant slid smoothly to the side, their movements precise and practiced, as if they had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. James narrowed his eyes, his adrenaline spiking.

"You've got guts to touch my family" James muttered, his voice steady despite the tension.

The figure didn't respond, their expression obscured by a black mask. They lunged again, this time aiming low with a sweeping kick. James leapt back, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a swift jab toward their ribs. The attacker twisted, dodging effortlessly, their agility unnerving.