Chapter 18 - The Reckoning of Blood
The world seemed to slow down into distinct, cinematic frames.
As Viktor shifted his weight to pivot toward me, I closed the distance between us with explosive speed. I didn't fire; at this range, a bullet was too slow and too merciful. I slammed the heavy polymer frame of my Sig Sauer directly into the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch of cartilage.
Viktor bellowed in pain, his grip on the hunting knife loosening just enough for Emily to violently jerk her head back and slam her bootheel down onto his instep with all her remaining strength. The enforcer stumbled backward, tripping over a discarded toolbox, and before he could recover, I was on top of him. I drove my forearm into his windpipe, pinning him to the dusty floor, and wrenched the knife from his grip, tossing it across the room into the shadows.
"Stay down!" I snarled, pressing my tactical boot directly into his chest with enough pressure to crack a rib.
Across the room, Ryan was clawing at the heavy iron pulley resting across his leg, screaming profanities as blood soaked through the sleeve of his jacket. "Help me, you idiot! My arm is broken! Viktor, get him!"
"Viktor is currently reconsidering his life choices," I said coldly, stepping away from the groaning enforcer and walking slowly toward my brother.
I looked down at Ryan—the same brother who had laughed while I stormed into our bedroom three years ago, the same parasite who had helped orchestrate the systematic destruction of my family for a share of a stolen fortune. He looked pathetic now, whimpering in the dirt, his expensive clothes ruined by mud and blood.
"You always thought you were smarter than everyone else, Ryan," I said, crouching down beside him and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, hauling him upright until his terrified eyes met mine. "You thought because I wore a uniform and followed orders, I was a blunt instrument you could manipulate. You forgot one fundamental rule."
"Christian... please," Ryan choked out, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "We’re brothers... we share blood..."
"Blood doesn't mean a damn thing when you poison the well," I whispered, my voice like crushed ice. "Mother is going to spend the rest of her natural life in a supermax facility where she can't even see the sky. And you? You're going back to a cell block, too. But this time, there won't be any appeals. There won't be any corrupt judges. Because I am going to personally ensure that every single document linking you to corporate espionage and kidnapping is laid on the federal prosecutor's desk before sunrise."
Before Ryan could beg again, the wail of approaching sirens echoed through the dense pine forest, cutting through the storm. Headlights swept across the broken doorway of the cabin, illuminating the flashing red and blue strobes of federal law enforcement vehicles.
Marcus stepped through the doorway, his weapon holstered, holding a digital satellite phone toward me.
"Boss," Marcus said, his face expressionless. "The director of the FBI field office is on the line. He wants to know if we need the transport chopper for our guests."
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I let go of Ryan’s collar, letting him slump back into the mud like a discarded sack of garbage, and turned away, walking toward Emily, who was already untying her own wrists with the small tactical blade I had kicked across the floor.
***
