Chapter 6 - The Cavalry Arrives
BOOM.
The massive steel hurricane shutter facing the private marina blew inward with an explosive blast of compressed nitrogen, tearing heavy bolts out of the concrete foundation and filling the pavilion with a violent gust of cool, salty sea air.
Before Viktor or his men could react, three tactical flash-bang grenades sailed through the breach, detonating with blinding white light and deafening concussive shockwaves.
“DOWN! ON THE GROUND! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
The deep, synchronized roar of heavily armed federal extraction operatives echoed through the pavilion. Clad in matte-black combat gear bearing the insignia of the international intelligence coalition I had once worked for, they swarmed through the smoke like a tidal wave of steel.
Viktor stumbled backward, his gun hand wavering as the blinding flash-bang light disoriented him. “Shoot them! Kill the hostages! Kill her!” he screamed frantically to his remaining guards.
Two of Viktor’s mercenaries raised their rifles toward the breach, but they were cut down instantly by precise, non-lethal neutralizing rounds that pinned them to the floor.
I didn't wait for the crossfire to clear.
With a burst of explosive speed, I sprinted up the stairs of the DJ stage, closed the distance between Viktor and myself before he could reacquire his target, and drove the heel of my bare foot directly into his wrist.
CRACK.
The 9mm pistol flew from Viktor’s hand, spinning through the air and crashing onto the dance floor below.
Viktor roared with rage, lunging forward to wrap his thick, scarred hands around my throat. But my training took over—fluid, automatic, lethal. I ducked beneath his wild swing, swept his front leg out from under him, and slammed him hard against the heavy wooden DJ console.
Before he could recover, I drove my elbow down against the back of his neck, sending him crashing face-first into the turntables. He slumped unconscious onto the floor, a pool of blood forming near his temple.
I stood up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face, my breath coming in steady, controlled rhythms.
Across the pavilion, the remaining Syndicate operatives were pinned against the walls, disarmed and zip-tied by the extraction team. Silence descended over the beach club, broken only by the soft hum of the ocean waves crashing against the newly blasted marina bulkhead.
Mark broke through the crowd, running up the stage stairs faster than I had ever seen him move. He didn't care about the cameras, the shocked socialites, or the armed tactical agents. He grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me violently into his chest, and buried his face in my hair.
“El... oh, God, El,” Mark choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I thought... I thought I lost you.”
“I told you, Mark,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder, finally letting the adrenaline fade from my veins. “I’m hard to get rid of.”
Behind us, a groan echoed from the floor.
Victoria was crawling on her hands and knees past the wreckage of the DJ table, her designer gown shredded, her hair tangled, looking less like a high-society queen and more like a shipwreck survivor. She stopped, staring up at Mark and me with wide, hollow eyes.
May you like
She looked at my scar. She looked at the tactical agents securing the room. She looked at Viktor lying unconscious in a heap of shattered vinyl records.
And for the first time in her life, Victoria didn't have a single word left to say.
