Chapter 15 - Iron and Blood
The assault was surgical, overwhelming, and utterly merciless.
Flashes of white-hot muzzle fire tore through the darkness from the surrounding rooftops as Westbrook’s enforcers opened fire, neutralizing the mercenaries’ tires and disabling their escape vehicle with pinpoint precision. Before the New York thugs could even raise their weapons to return fire, flash-bang grenades detonated across the tarmac with deafening, blinding concussions.
*Boom!*
White light turned night into blinding day, accompanied by a shockwave that rattled the teeth in the mercenaries' skulls. High-pitched ringing filled their ears as tactical enforcers dropped from the gantry ladders like silent spiders, moving with lethal efficiency.
Marcus stumbled backward, his ears ringing, his assault rifle tumbling from his numb fingers. He hit the cold concrete hard, gasping for air.
Heavy combat boots stepped into his field of vision. Marcus looked up, trembling, as a towering shadow loomed over him. The ambient moonlight caught the cold, unforgiving planes of Dorian Westbrook’s face as he slowly holstered his sidearm and crouched down beside the shivering mercenary.
“You...” Marcus choked out, tasting copper and dust. “You set us up.”
“You thought you could walk into my city, steal from my docks, and test my borders while my back was turned,” Dorian said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, devoid of all human warmth. “Moretti sent children to do a man's job.”
“Moretti... Moretti will never stop!” Marcus spat, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. “The families are coming for you. All of them!”
Dorian didn’t flinch. He leaned in closer, his dark eyes burning into the dying mercenary's soul. “Let them come. Tell Moretti that the Westbrook empire isn't built on glass. It’s built on blood, and I have plenty left to spill.”
With a swift, dismissive gesture, Dorian stood up, walking away as Viktor and his men secured the remaining prisoners and cleared the docks. The battle was over almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving the cold Chicago harbor silent once more, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the concrete pilings.
Back in the command SUV, Dorian pulled out his phone. The screen glowed softly in the dark interior. Without a moment's hesitation, he dialed Nell’s private number.
It rang twice before a soft, sleepy voice answered on the other end. “Dorian? Is it over?”
The harsh, demonic coldness that had defined Dorian just moments before instantly evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming wave of tenderness.
May you like
“It’s over, Nell,” Dorian murmured softly, resting his forehead against the cool leather headrest as the vehicle began the long drive back to the estate. “Everyone is safe. I’m coming home.”
***
