Chapter 8 - THE STRENGTH OF THE PACK
Two mercenaries rushed the basement door, kicking open the reinforced wood and preparing to toss a flashbang grenade down the narrow stairs.
Before the grenade could be primed, a black blur exploded out of the darkness.
Sera launched herself up the stairwell with terrifying velocity. She smashed into the lead mercenary, her massive jaws locking onto his shoulder, driving him backward onto the polished hardwood floor of the living room.
The second mercenary turned his weapon toward the dog, but Ronan stepped out from the stairwell, firing two precise rounds that neutralized the threat instantly.
Marcus scrambled back toward the front porch, panic finally overcoming his arrogance as he realized his force was being liquidated in the dark. "Get off me!" he screamed, firing a wild shotgun blast into the ceiling as Sera loomed over him, her deep bark shaking the very glass in the remaining window frames.
Gray descended the stairs slowly, step by step, using the handrail to keep from falling. His face was white as ash, but his eyes were fixed entirely on his half-brother.
"Call them off!" Marcus wept, sprawling against the stone hearth, his leg pinned under Sera’s massive front paw. "Gray, please! We’re brothers! We have the same blood!"
"Blood didn't stop you from putting a bullet in my shoulder in Cheyenne," Gray said, standing over him, his Glock leveled straight between Marcus’s eyes. "Blood didn't stop you from trying to murder a woman who never did you harm."
"I'll give you the money!" Marcus sobbed, reaching into his coat with a trembling hand. "All four billion! Take it and leave the country!"
"I don't want your money, Marcus," Gray whispered. "I never did."
Behind them, Clara stepped out of the basement, holding the encrypted satellite terminal in her hands. The screen flashed bright green with a simple text message: TRANSMISSION COMPLETE — FEDERAL MARSHALS EN ROUTE.
In the distance, through the shattered iron gates, the faint, wailing sound of law enforcement sirens began to echo up the mountain trail—not Marcus’s corrupt local deputies, but federal tactical units dispatched directly from Denver based on the uploaded Vance files.
Marcus looked at the green screen, then up at Gray’s frozen face. He knew it was over. His empire, his wealth, his freedom—all of it had been destroyed in less than eight minutes by a wounded man, a quiet woman, and a silent dog.
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Gray slowly lowered his weapon.
"Get him out of my house," Gray said to Ronan.
