Chapter 7 - The Syndicate Coup
Thirty-six hours later.
The rain over Seattle had finally cleared, replaced by a cold, crisp fog that rolled off Puget Sound, wrapping the downtown skyscrapers in gray cotton.
Inside an abandoned shipping terminal on Pier 54—a vast, subterranean concrete warehouse owned secretly by Adrian’s shell companies—the quiet hum of high-tech monitors echoed against the corrugated steel walls.
Evelyn was sitting on a folding chair beside a leather cot.
Adrian was lying on his side. The high fever was completely gone. His skin was clear, his temperature normal at 98.6.
And for the past six hours, under Evelyn’s strict supervision, he had been performing isometric nerve exercises.
“Flex the right quad,” Evelyn commanded, holding a digital stopwatch.
Adrian concentrated. The thick muscles in his thigh contracted, strong and visible beneath his dark trousers.
“Now the left ankle.”
His left foot rotated smoothly in a complete circle.
Evelyn smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up her plain face and made her hazel eyes glow. “The neurotoxin has cleared your nerve pathways. The inflammation is down ninety percent.”
Adrian sat up on the edge of the cot.
He didn't rush. He swung his long legs over the side, feeling the concrete floor beneath his bare soles.
He looked at Evelyn, holding out his hand. “Help me up.”
Evelyn stood in front of him, bracing her broad frame, taking both of his large hands in hers. “Slowly. Don't push through sharp pain.”
Adrian stood.
His six-foot-three frame unfolded like an iron mountain rising from the earth. His wide chest expanded as he took a full, deep breath. He wobbled slightly as his weight settled onto his feet, but Evelyn braced her hips, holding him completely steady.
He didn't fall.
He was standing under his own power.
Adrian looked down at her. He was nearly a head taller than she was, his dark eyes burning with immense power and quiet gratitude. He didn't let go of her hands. Instead, he pulled her closer until her chest was resting against his heart.
“How do I look, Nurse?” he asked softly.
Evelyn looked up at his handsome, rugged face, the dark hair brushed back, the sharp jawline clean-shaved with a razor Grant’s men had brought to the safehouse hours earlier.
“You look like a man about to crash a party,” Evelyn murmured.
A heavy steel door at the end of the warehouse rolled open.
Evelyn instinctively reached for a weapon, but relaxed as a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing a heavy arm sling and a dark suit.
“Grant!” Evelyn gasped.
Grant was alive. His face was bruised, three ribs were taped tightly beneath his shirt, and his arm was bound in a sling, but he walked into the light with a lethal grin on his face.
“You can't kill a Marine with cheap mercenary bullets, Boss,” Grant said, giving Adrian a crisp nod. “I took out five of them in the kitchen, escaped down the trash chute, and hid in a sewage line for twelve hours.”
Adrian stepped forward, clapping his heavy hand over Grant’s uninjured shoulder. “Good work, old friend.”
“What’s the situation downtown?” Adrian asked, his voice dropping into cold, lethal focus.
Grant pulled a sleek black tablet from his coat and handed it to Adrian.
“Julian called an emergency session of the Seattle Underworld Commission for ten o'clock this morning at the Grand Venetian Hotel,” Grant reported. “He produced a forged death certificate signed by Dr. Pryce, stating you died of systemic organ failure at four this morning. He’s presenting himself as the sole heir to Vale Enterprises and asking the Commission to ratify his control over the shipping terminals and city contracts.”
Adrian looked at the clock on the warehouse wall.
9:15 AM.
“Where is Pryce?” Adrian asked.
“He’s sitting in the VIP suite at the Venetian right now,” Grant chuckled grimly. “Julian gave him a five-million-dollar cashier's check to sit by his side and confirm your 'illness' to the Commission captains.”
Adrian handed the tablet back to Grant. He turned to face Evelyn.
He walked over to a steel table where his men had laid out a tailor-made, three-piece charcoal Italian suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark silk tie.
He picked up the silk tie, holding it out to her.
“Put this on me, Evelyn,” Adrian commanded softly.
Evelyn walked over to him. She stepped close, her broad hands dexterously wrapping the silk around his collar, tying a tight, perfect Windsor knot against his throat.
As she adjusted his lapels, Adrian reached out, his long fingers gently cupping the back of her neck.
“When we step into that ballroom today,” Adrian whispered, his gaze locked onto her eyes, “Julian will try to paint you as a nobody. A cheap agency nurse he hired to scrub my floors.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a deep shiver straight down her spine.
“He doesn't know that you are the woman who brought the king back from the dead,” Adrian whispered. “You walk beside me today, Evelyn. Not behind me. Beside me.”
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Evelyn looked up into his eyes, her heart beating steady and strong. She didn't feel small. She didn't feel plain. Stand beside this formidable man, she felt invincible.
“Let’s go show your brother what a real nurse can do,” Evelyn said.
