Chapter 3 - The Descent into War
I watched the secret elevator doors slide shut, locking Dela inside the bulletproof shaft. Only when the digital display confirmed she had reached Sub-Level 3 safely did I allow the predator inside me to fully awaken.
Wealthy socialites knew me as Royce Callaway—the ruthless, icy billionaire CEO who bought up hotels and shipping conglomerates before breakfast. But Wall Street didn't know how I built my empire. They didn't know about the five years I spent running black-ops tactical missions in South America before taking over the Callaway family legacy.
I stripped off my tailored suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of my white dress shirt. From the security locker behind the desk, I pulled out a heavy tactical belt, strapping two extra magazines, a tactical combat knife, and flashbang grenades across my waist.
Outside the security room, Victor’s men were using heavy breaching charges against the iron door.
BOOM!
The iron door flexed under the explosive blast. Dust rained down from the ceiling.
I didn't hide. I stood directly in front of the door, my Sig Sauer held at low-ready, my dark eyes glowing with a lethal, ancient fury.
BOOM!
The hinges snapped. The heavy steel door fell inward with a deafening crash.
Through the cloud of smoke, two mercenaries stormed in, night-vision goggles strapped to their helmets. They expected to find an panicked corporate executive hiding under a desk.
They found a demon.
Before the first mercenary could raise his rifle, I stepped into his guard, grabbing the barrel of his gun and twisting it upward. I brought my tactical knife straight up into his throat, sliding it under his helmet strap. He dropped like a sack of bricks.
The second mercenary swung his rifle toward my head. I ducked beneath the sweep, drove my shoulder into his ribs, and slammed him back-first against the concrete wall. I pressed the muzzle of my Sig Sauer under his chin and pulled the trigger.
Two down. Thirteen to go.
I stepped out of the security room into the pitch-black mezzanine hallway, melting into the shadows like a ghost.
Below in the lobby, the emergency sprinklers were raining cold water down upon Victor’s men. Flashlights crisscrossed through the darkness as the mercenaries tried to reorganize.
"Find him!" Victor roared from near the reception desk, his white suit soaked and dirty. "Find Callaway and tear this building apart until you find that girl!"
From my elevated position on the mezzanine balcony, I looked down at Cordelia and Harlon. They were tied to a marble pillar, shivering under the ice-cold sprinkler water, sobbing in pathetic terror.
I pulled a flashbang grenade from my belt, pulled the ring with my teeth, and tossed it right into the center of the lobby.
BANG-FLASH!
A blinding, white-hot burst of light and ten thousand decibels of sound tore through the darkness. Victor’s men screamed, dropping their weapons to clutch their ears and eyes in agony.
I moved like a shadow unleashed.
I vaulted over the mezzanine railing, dropping twenty feet onto the shoulders of a mercenary below. The force of my weight snapped his collarbone as we hit the wet marble floor. I rolled instantly, sweeping the legs of another blinded guard and driving my knife through his tactical vest.
Within thirty seconds of pure, brutal violence, four more mercenaries lay motionless on the floor.
"Callaway!" Victor screamed, spraying blind gunfire from a heavy automatic pistol into the dark shadows. "You think you can fight my empire for a pregnant servant?! She's carrying my blood! That child belongs to the Thorne family!"
I emerged from the shadows behind Victor, my gun pressed directly against the back of his neck.
"That child belongs to a woman you tried to kill," I growled in his ear, my voice chillingly low. "And you just committed suicide by entering my hotel."
Victor froze. The cold steel of my gun barrel pressed firmly into the base of his skull.
"Shoot me, Royce," Victor whispered, a manic, evil chuckle bubbling up in his chest. "Go ahead. Pull the trigger. But my men on the outside already have your garage surrounded. The moment my heart stops beating, a signal goes out to blow your Maybach into scrap metal."
My heart missed a beat.
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"You're bluffing," I hissed.
"Am I?" Victor sneered, slowly raising his left hand, revealing a digital pulse-monitor watch strapped to his wrist. "It's linked to the explosives planted under your subterranean garage. You kill me... the girl dies instantly."
