Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Pack
The tactical engagement inside the dark halls of the mansion was swift, precise, and absolute.
Julian fired wildly down the staircase, the muzzle flashes illuminating the grand oil paintings and crystal chandeliers in brief, blinding strobes of light.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The bullets tore through the drywall and shattered marble vases, but I was already gone, having flanked up the secondary servant staircase behind the main hallway.
I popped out behind Julian. I reached out, grabbed the barrel of his rifle, twisted it upward to redirect his line of fire into the ceiling, and delivered a devastating headbutt straight to his nose.
Julian groaned, dropping the weapon as blood gushed from his broken nose. Before he could recover, I swept his leg, slammed him face-first onto the wooden floor, and secured his hands with a zip-tie.
"Three down," I whispered.
Gabriel and Lucian—the twin brothers—burst out of the master bedroom, holding shotguns, their flashlights frantically sweeping the hallway.
"Julian?!" Gabriel yelled. "Where is he?!"
I tossed a flashbang grenade—a non-lethal military device that produces a 170-decibel bang and a 1.5-million-candlepower flash—directly between their feet.
BANG!
The blinding light and concussive sound wave exploded through the narrow hallway. Gabriel and Lucian screamed, dropping their shotguns as their inner ears were instantly disoriented and their vision went completely white.
I closed the distance in two strides, delivering a spinning heel kick to Gabriel’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Lucian tried to swing blindly, but I caught his arm, executed a shoulder throw, and slammed him onto the hardwood floor, rendering him unconscious upon impact.
"Five down," I breathed, wiping a streak of sweat from my eyes.
Now, only two remained: Victor Wolfe and his youngest son, Mason.
I walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the grand library at the end of the corridor. The heavy oak doors were cracked open, a faint warm light flickering from inside—a gas-powered fireplace.
I kicked the door open, stepping into the room with my weapon held at low ready.
Inside, Victor Wolfe sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He was holding an antique, pearl-handled revolver in his trembling hand.
Beside him sat Mason, curled up in a leather armchair, sobbing quietly with his head in his hands.
Victor looked like a shell of the proud, arrogant patriarch who had sneered at me in the hospital hallway just days ago. His hair was disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled, and his eyes wild with defeat.
"Stay back!" Victor shrieked, pointing the revolver at my chest. "Stay back or I swear to God I'll shoot!"
I didn't raise my rifle. I lowered it completely, letting it hang by its tactical sling across my chest. I took three slow steps forward, stopping right in front of his desk.
"Your guards are gone, Victor," I said quietly. "Dominic and Hector are in federal lockup. Miller is testifying. Your empire is gone. The ledger is in the hands of the FBI."
"You ruined me!" Victor screamed, tears of rage springing to his eyes. "We built this city! We owned everything! You were supposed to be nobody! A pathetic, low-life soldier!"
"I am a soldier," I said softly, leaning over his desk, looking straight into his trembling eyes. "And a soldier’s duty is to destroy threats to his home. You attacked my home, Victor. You laid your hands on my wife."
Victor’s thumb pulled back the hammer of the revolver with a sharp CLICK. "I should have killed her! I should have finished the job!"
Mason jumped up from his chair, screaming in terror: "Dad, no! Don't do it!"
Before Victor could pull the trigger, I reacted with the lightning speed forged in a thousand hours of hand-to-hand combat drills.
My left hand flashed forward, jamming my thumb behind the hammer of the revolver, preventing it from striking the firing pin. My right hand grabbed Victor’s wrist, twisting it violently outward in an wrist-lock technique.
SNAP.
Victor let out a blood-curdling scream as his wrist dislocated, dropping the pearl-handled revolver onto the desk.
I didn't strike him again. I simply held him pinned against his desk chair, looking down at him as he wept in agonizing pain.
From outside the mansion windows, red and blue light began to illuminate the dark night sky. Sirens wailed up the mountain road as dozens of federal tactical vehicles blew through the gates of the estate.
The heavy oak doors of the library burst open. Agent Vance and ten heavily armed FBI SWAT operators flooded the room, their rifle laser sights locking onto Victor and Mason.
"FBI! DON'T MOVE! RAISE YOUR HANDS!" Vance shouted.
I stepped back, raising my hands slowly, stepping away from the desk.
Agent Vance looked at Victor crying on his desk, looked at the bound brothers in the hallway, and then looked at me, her eyes filled with profound shock and professional awe.
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"You really did it," Vance whispered, lowering her weapon slightly. "You took down the entire Wolfe Pack in forty-eight hours."
"I didn't take them down, Agent Vance," I said, unbuckling my tactical vest and letting it drop to the floor. "I just delivered them to you. Now do your job."
