Chapter 5 - Fire and Rain
Outside in the courtyard, the rain was falling in blinding sheets, turning the manicured lawn of the Lincoln Park estate into a churned morass of mud and blood.
Three black SUVs had smashed straight through the outer security gates, their high-beam headlights slicing through the stormy dark like white daggers. Armed men in tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, spreading out along the perimeter walls, their assault rifles raised.
From the second-floor balcony, Gabriel stepped out into the howling wind and rain.
His white shirt was instantly soaked, clinging to the broad muscles of his chest and shoulders. He didn't flinch as lightning split the sky overhead, casting a brilliant, eerie blue glow across his cold, impassive face.
"Cross!" Gabriel’s voice cut through the roar of the storm like a physical blow, amplified by the heavy acoustic speakers wired into the estate's perimeter.
From behind the cover of the lead SUV, a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped out, holding a tactical shotgun. Damian Cross—older, scarred across the bridge of his nose, and wearing an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Kane!" Cross shouted back, shielding his eyes from the driving rain. "Hand over the kid and the woman! You're outmatched, Gabriel! Your empire is burning down around you as we speak!"
Gabriel raised his pistol, resting it casually against the stone balustrade of the balcony. "You broke the treaty, Damian. You touched my blood."
"The boy belongs to the syndicate now!" Cross yelled over the thunder. "Nathan is dead! You have no heir! Give him to us, and maybe I'll let you walk away from this estate alive!"
"I don't walk away," Gabriel whispered to the empty air.
He didn't fire a warning shot. He squeezed the trigger twice.
The first bullet shattered the windshield of Cross’s lead vehicle. The second caught the tactical light mounted on the barrel of Cross’s shotgun, blowing it to pieces in a shower of sparks.
"Kill them all!" Cross shrieked, diving back behind the engine block as a dozen muzzles flashed in unison, turning the stone balcony into a target of flying masonry and lead.
Gabriel didn't blink. He stepped back inside the shattered French doors just as the stone railing where he had been standing dissolved into dust under a concentrated burst of fire.
He moved through the dark corridors of the house with lethal efficiency. He wasn't defending a building; he was protecting his home, his legacy, and the quiet, fierce woman hiding beneath the floorboards.
Two of Cross’s enforcers breached the ground-floor kitchen, moving cautiously with suppressed carbines raised. They pushed through the swinging doors—and found the room completely dark.
Before the first man could adjust his night-vision goggles, a heavy cast-iron skillet came down across his helmet with a sickening crunch, followed instantly by a swift, crushing blow to the back of his knees. He crumpled to the floor like a broken doll.
The second man whirled around, raising his rifle—only to find himself staring down the barrel of Gabriel’s pistol.
May you like
"Tell Damian his time is up," Gabriel said softly.
Bang.
