Undercover Animal Specialist Exposed to $15 Million Hollywood Dynasty's Lethal Hunting Hounds Finds Betrayal, Mob Retribution, and Heartbreaking Loss on Georgia Celebrity Estate
I moved swiftly, the keycard cool in my palm, my gaze locked on the imposing oak door to the west wing. The hounds, loyal to their new command, remained on the veranda, effectively holding Silas and Julian hostage.
Warren Gable, seeing me move, started shouting. “Stop her! Don’t let her get inside! She’s a thief!”
His words were useless. He was still too far down the driveway, and his guards were still minutes away.
I reached the heavy door and slid the keycard into the reader. There was a soft electronic click. I pushed the door open, the faint scent of stale air and medical supplies greeting me.
The west wing was usually a guest section, but Silas had adapted it into a makeshift infirmary for Caleb, claiming it was for “privacy.” In reality, it was a prison.
“Caleb!” I called out, my voice echoing down the silent hallway.
His room was at the very end, secured with another heavy door. This one, to my surprise, was unlocked. Silas must have rushed him in here.
I pushed it open. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Caleb lay on a narrow cot, his body almost swallowed by the crisp white sheets. He looked even smaller, more fragile than usual. His skin had a feverish sheen, and his breathing was shallow.
“Maya?” he whispered, his eyes fluttering open. A weak, surprised smile touched his lips.
My heart lurched. He was so vulnerable.
“I’m here, baby brother,” I said, rushing to his side. I knelt, feeling his forehead. It was burning hot. “You’re burning up.”
“They wouldn’t give me the medicine,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “Silas said I was faking.”
Rage flared hot in my chest. Silas’s cruelty knew no bounds. He’d weaponized Caleb’s illness to control me, and now he was letting him sicken further.
“It’s okay, I’m getting you out of here,” I promised, gently gathering him into my arms. He was light, far too light, a testament to how ill he was.
He coughed, a wet, rattling sound that sent a jolt of fear through me. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” I said, trying to sound confident. “We’re going to get you help.”
I carried him out of the room, cradling his head against my shoulder. He was too weak to walk on his own. The manor’s grand entrance hall was silent as we passed. The sounds of Warren Gable’s frantic shouting and Silas’s enraged demands were muffled by the thick stone walls.
I avoided the front door, knowing the estate guards would be converging there. Instead, I headed for a side entrance, an old service door that led directly to the stables. It was a longer route, but it offered more cover.
The air in the stables was thick with the earthy scent of hay and horses. The grand thoroughbreds shifted in their stalls, nickering softly as I passed. I knew this estate better than anyone, every secret path, every hidden corner. That was part of my job as an “animal caretaker,” a cover I had perfected.
As I approached the back exit of the stable, a figure stepped out from behind a stack of hay bales. It was Arlo Croft, the veteran stunt coordinator. He was holding a worn leather duffel bag.
“Maya,” he said, his voice low and urgent. His face was grim. “Thank God you got him. I saw what you did with the dogs. Incredible.”
“Arlo,” I breathed, relief washing over me. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard Silas’s frantic calls on the estate radio,” he explained, glancing nervously toward the main manor. “He was screaming about you and the dogs. Then Gable mentioned ‘syndicate arrival protocols.’ That’s not good, Maya.”
My blood ran cold. The syndicate. Don Hector Dupree. Holloway’s illegal hunting rings. That was far worse than Silas and his estate guards.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, pulling Caleb closer, instinctively shielding him.
“This isn’t just about Silas’s pride anymore,” Arlo said, lowering his voice further. “If the syndicate is involved, they’re not sending security guards. They’re sending enforcers. Holloway’s been running illegal animal fights and high-stakes hunting trips for years, funded by Dupree. If they think you’ve compromised their operation, they’ll make an example of you.”
He gestured to the back of the stables, where a beat-up, camouflage-painted pickup truck was discreetly parked. “I’ve got a truck. Loaded with some basic supplies. It’s not much, but it’s got a full tank and it can get you out through the old logging road. It bypasses the main gates.”
The roar of distant engines grew louder, closer. The estate guards. And potentially, something far more sinister.
“You need to go, Maya,” Arlo urged. “Now. Before they seal the entire property.”
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours