Chapter 9 - The Clash of Kings
Victor tossed the sniper rifle over the catwalk railing. It hit the steel floor below with a loud metallic clang. He reached into his coat, pulling out two heavy, custom-engraved chrome pistols.
"You ruined my hotel, Victor," I said, climbing the steel staircase toward his level, my eyes burning with lethal intent. "You terrorized a defenseless woman. You targeted her unborn child."
"That child carries my blood, Callaway!" Victor spat, his face twisting in manic fury as he stepped onto the central catwalk. "My son Julian is dead! That baby is the only thing left of my legacy! It belongs to ME!"
"A child isn't a piece of property, Victor," I growled, reaching the top of the stairs, standing fifty feet away from him on the narrow steel walkway. "And you aren't a father. You're a disease."
"Let's see if your black-ops tricks can stop lead!" Victor screamed, opening fire with both chrome pistols!
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark cargo hold.
I rolled behind a heavy steel support beam as bullets sparks flew off the iron plating. I leaned out, firing three rapid shots from my Sig Sauer. One bullet tore through Victor's shoulder, spraying blood against the metal wall behind him.
Victor grunted in pain, dropping one of his pistols, but he didn't stop. Fuelled by pure, psychotic adrenaline, he lunged forward, charging down the narrow catwalk like a mad bull!
He tackled me across the waist! We both slammed through the rusted railing, plunging thirty feet down from the catwalk into the lower cargo bay!
CRASH!
We hit a stack of wooden shipping crates, splintering them into a thousand sharp wooden shards before rolling onto the cold steel deck.
The air was knocked out of my lungs. My gun clattered across the floor, sliding out of reach under a heavy shipping container.
Victor was on his feet first, coughing blood, pulling a long, serrated hunting knife from his boot. "I'm going to cut your heart out, Callaway!" he roared, diving toward me with the blade!
I rolled to the side. The serrated knife slammed into the steel deck, sending sparks flying into my face.
I grabbed Victor's wrist, twisting it violently to the left. He snarled, driving his heavy elbow into my jaw. Head spinning, I drove my knee straight into his wounded shoulder. Victor shrieked in pain, dropping the knife.
We hit the deck together, trading brutal, bone-crushing strikes in the dark.
Victor grabbed a loose steel chain from the floor, wrapping it around my throat from behind, pulling back with all his remaining strength!
Air was cut off instantly. Blood pounded in my ears. Vision began to blur at the edges.
"Die, Callaway!" Victor hissed into my ear, his breath hot and metallic. "Die so I can go take my grandson!"
Through the darkening haze of my consciousness, I saw her face.
I saw Dela—standing amidst the glass in my lobby, clutching her stomach, looking at me with those wide, trusting dark eyes. I saw her hand, marked by the crescent scar she had earned saving my life six years ago.
Not today.
With a roar of primal, violent rage, I reached up, grabbed Victor by his hair, and drove my head backward into his face with maximum force!
CRUNCH!
Victor's nose shattered. His grip on the chain loosened just enough.
I spun around, grabbed his throat with both hands, lifted his entire body off the floor, and slammed him back-first against a massive steel cargo container!
BOOM!
Victor coughed up a wave of bright red blood, his eyes wide with shock and agony.
Before he could recover, I picked up his fallen serrated hunting knife from the floor. With one swift, devastating motion, I drove the blade deep through Victor Thorne's right hand, pinning his arm directly into the heavy steel wall of the cargo container!
"AAAAARGH!" Victor shrieked, his body thrashing in agony as he hung pinned to the wall.
I stepped back, breathing heavily, wiping blood from my mouth.
"It's over, Victor," I panted, looking down at the broken shadow king. "Your empire is gone. Your ships are seized. Your men are dead."
The heavy iron hatches above opened. Marcus and ten fully armed federal agents descended into the hold, rifles trained on the pinned crime lord.
"Royce Callaway!" Special Agent Vance (no relation to Harlon) called out, stepping forward with cuffed hands ready. "Federal agents! Stand down!"
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"He's all yours, Agent," I said coldly, turning my back on Victor Thorne as he screamed curses in Spanish and English while being cuffed to the steel wall.
I walked up the iron stairs, stepping out of the dark cargo hold into the cool, fresh rain of the morning sky.
