Chapter 5 - The Flame of Vengeance
Before Richard Vance could process my words, I flexed my forearms, snapping the heavy plastic zip-ties like cheap thread.
During my black-ops training, I had learned how to shift my wrist bones to create invisible slack in restraints. The moment Richard stepped within arm's reach, I lunged forward.
My left hand snapped out, grabbing the barrel of the silver revolver and forcing it upward.
BANG!
The gunshot exploded uselessly into the high glass ceiling.
In the same fluid motion, I drove my right elbow directly into Richard Vance’s throat. His windpipe crushed under the impact with a sickening crunch. He dropped the gun, clutching his neck, gasping for air as he collapsed to the marble floor.
"Shoot him!" Victor roared, stepping back.
The remaining three mercenaries raised their assault rifles.
I didn't dodge. I grabbed Richard Vance by his collar, using his heavy body as a human shield as a barrage of bullets tore into his back. Richard screamed once before going limp in my grip.
I rolled behind the marble column, picking up the fallen silver revolver. Three quick shots. Three heads snapped back. The three mercenaries dropped dead into the flooded lobby.
Only Victor Thorne was left standing.
Panicked, Victor lunged forward, grabbing Dela from behind, wrapping his arm around her throat, and pressing his pocket pistol directly against her five-month pregnant stomach.
"Don't move, Callaway!" Victor screamed, his eyes wild with psychotic rage. "Step back or I blow her and the baby to pieces right now!"
I stepped out from behind the column, covered in water, dust, and Richard Vance’s blood. I held the silver revolver aimed dead-center at Victor’s forehead.
Dela was choking under Victor’s crushing grip, her eyes wide with terror, but she looked at me and shook her head. "Royce... kill him... don't worry about me..."
"Shut up, girl!" Victor yelled, tightening his grip.
In the corner, Cordelia Vance screamed in horror at her father's lifeless body on the floor. "Dad! Oh my God, Dad!" She looked up at Victor, her voice hysterical. "You promised us! You promised we would be safe!"
"Your father was a fool, Cordelia, just like you!" Victor spat.
That split-second distraction was all I needed.
I didn't shoot Victor. I shot the crystal chandelier hanging directly above his head.
BANG!
The heavy iron chain snapping sent a three-ton crystal chandelier plunging straight down.
Victor looked up in absolute horror. Instinctively, he released Dela and threw himself backward onto the floor to avoid being crushed.
The chandelier hit the marble with a deafening, explosive crash! Tons of glass, iron, and crystal rained down, creating a massive barrier of dust and sharp debris between Victor and Dela.
I moved like lightning. I leaped over the shattered crystal, scooped Dela up into my arms, and sprinted toward the rear service exit.
Behind us, Victor crawled out from under the twisted metal of the chandelier, his white suit ruined, blood streaming down his face. "Callaway!" he roared into the dark, ruined lobby. "This isn't over! I will destroy everything you love!"
I didn't look back. I carried Dela through the iron door, down the service stairs, and out into the stormy, rain-soaked alleyway behind the Ashworth Grand.
Parked in the dark alley was my secondary tactical unit—three black armored Suburbans, flanked by ten of my elite, private security force, armed to the teeth and wearing heavy body armor.
My head of security, Marcus, rushed forward, opening the door of the lead Suburban. "Boss! We saw the signal! Are you alright?!"
May you like
I placed Dela gently onto the plush leather back seat, climbing in right beside her.
"Marcus," I growled, looking back at the burning silhouette of my hotel. "Call the private military team. Lock down the city docks. Tell them Royce Callaway is initiating a full Underworld War."
