Chapter 4 - The Betrayal at Sub-Level 3
The silence in the dark, water-drenched lobby was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of the emergency sprinklers and Cordelia’s pathetic whimpering.
I held the gun steady against Victor’s skull, every muscle in my body strained to absolute capacity. I could pull the trigger and end Victor Thorne right here. But if his dead-man's switch was real, Dela and her unborn child would be vaporized in the garage beneath our feet.
"Drop the gun, Callaway," Victor commanded, his confidence returning like a toxic tide. "Or we all go to hell together."
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered the Sig Sauer, sliding it back into my holster.
Victor turned around slowly, a triumphant, sickening grin spread across his rain-soaked face. He wiped water from his eyes and adjusted his ruined white jacket. "That's better. You always were too noble for your own good, Royce. That's why you'll never rule the underworld the way I do."
He waved his hand to his remaining four surviving mercenaries. "Tie him up."
The mercenaries rushed forward, shoving me against a marble column. Heavy zip-ties were strapped tightly around my wrists and ankles, binding me beside Harlon and Cordelia Vance.
Cordelia looked at me through her smudged makeup, her face twisted in pure, irrational hatred. "This is all your fault, Royce!" she hissed softly, her voice venomous. "If you had just let me put that stupid maid in her place, none of this would have happened! You ruined my life! You ruined my family!"
I didn't even look at her. "Keep your mouth shut, Cordelia, before I break your jaw myself."
"Enough!" Victor shouted, turning toward the private elevator at the back of the lobby. "Bring the girl up!"
He pressed the call button. The elevator digital counter blinked: 3... 2... 1...
The doors slid open.
My heart sank into my stomach.
Dela wasn't inside the elevator alone. Standing behind her, holding a suppressed pistol against her temple, was Harlon Vance’s father—Richard Vance, the patriarch of the Vance shipping family.
Dela was pale, her hands tied in front of her, tears streaming down her wet face. "Mr. Callaway... I'm sorry... he was waiting in the garage..."
I glared at Richard Vance, my eyes burning with absolute fury. "Richard... you backstabbing bastard."
Richard Vance stepped out of the elevator, pushing Dela roughly in front of him. He walked straight toward Victor Thorne, bowing his head in sickening submission.
"I delivered the girl, Victor," Richard said, his voice desperate and gravelly. "Just as we agreed. Now please... forgive my family's debt. Save my shipping business."
Harlon gasped from beside me. "Dad?! You... you planned this?!"
"Shut up, Harlon!" Richard yelled, glaring at his son. "I did this to save our family! The Vance empire was bankrupt! Victor offered to wipe away our forty-million-dollar debt if we helped him locate this girl and trap Royce Callaway inside the Ashworth Grand!"
The horrifying truth revealed itself completely.
Cordelia’s violent assault on Dela in the lobby earlier tonight hadn't been an accident. It was a staged distraction—a setup designed to draw me out into the open, isolate Dela, and allow Victor’s strike team to breach the hotel defenses!
Cordelia looked at her father, a smug, cruel smile returning to her face. "So I did good, Daddy? I played my part?"
"You did wonderfully, sweetheart," Richard said, patting his daughter's head. "Now the Callaway empire falls, and the Vances take control of the docks."
Victor Thorne laughed loudly—a cold, metallic sound that echoed through the dark lobby. He walked over to Dela, reaching out his leather-gloved hand to grab her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"Look at you," Victor whispered, inspecting Dela like a piece of livestock. "A penniless servant carrying the future king of the Thorne family. You're coming with me, girl. My doctors will harvest my grandson from your womb, and once he is born... you will be disposed of."
Dela spat directly into Victor’s face.
Victor’s eyes flashed with murderous rage. He raised his heavy hand to backhand her across the face.
"Touch her again, Thorne," I spoke, my voice dropping so low it sounded like thunder rolling across the floor, "and I swear on my life, I will rip your heart out through your chest."
Victor wiped the spit from his cheek, turning to glare at me. "You're in no position to make threats, Callaway. You're bound in plastic, your hotel is compromised, and your precious savior is in my hands."
Victor pulled a heavy silver revolver from his waistband and handed it to Richard Vance.
"Kill him, Richard," Victor ordered casually. "Kill Royce Callaway, and the Ashworth shipping terminals are yours."
Richard Vance took the gun with trembling hands. He walked over to where I was tied to the column, aiming the barrel directly between my eyes.
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"I'm sorry, Royce," Richard stammered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "It's just business."
"You should have checked my wrists, Richard," I whispered softly.
