The gunmen never blinked when they raised their weapons at her. Elena Hart had spent three years patching up the wreckage this city left behind — bullet wounds, broken ribs, men who didn't officially exist.

Rain slammed down on Pier 44 in a terrifying, apocalyptic torrent.

Inside the massive, rusted shipping warehouse at the edge of the harbor, Elena was tied to a heavy steel chair. Blood trickled down her forehead from a small cut she’d received during the struggle, but her eyes were cold, calm, and filled with unyielding defiance.

Victor Calloway paced back and forth in front of her, holding his phone, looking at his watch.

"He’s thirty minutes late," Victor spat, turning to Silas. "Are you sure he survived the chandelier?"

"If the iron didn't break his back, he’ll bleed to death in ten minutes," Silas replied, checking his sidearm. "Either way, you win, Victor. Without Damian, the Cross syndicate falls apart."

"I don't just want him dead," Victor hissed, grabbing Elena by her hair, pulling her head back violently. "I want him to watch me take everything he loves."

Elena glared at Victor, her lips curving into a deadly, confident smile. "You really don't know him at all, do you?"

Victor frowned. "What?"

"Damian Cross doesn't bleed to death," Elena whispered softly. "He comes back."

CRASH!

A massive armored tractor-trailer slammed through the reinforced corrugated steel doors of the warehouse at sixty miles an hour!

Glass, iron, and concrete rained down across the floor as the truck jackknifed, blocking the main exit!

Before the mercenaries could even raise their weapons, the rear doors of the trailer burst open, and twenty elite Cross enforcers, led by Cassian Vance, poured out firing suppressed tactical rifles!

PAK-PAK-PAK-PAK!

The warehouse erupted into absolute war! Gunfire tore through the shipping crates, smoke grenades filled the air, and screams of dying mercenaries echoed off the high steel beams!

Through the thick white smoke walked a god of death.

Damian Cross stepped out of the storm. His shoulder was bandaged, his face stained with soot and dried blood, holding a heavy shotgun in his right hand. His ice-blue eyes cut through the fog like twin laser beams, locking straight onto Victor Calloway.

"Cross!" Victor yelled, panicking. He grabbed Elena, dragging her up from the chair, holding her in front of his chest while pressing his pistol against her temple! "Drop your weapon, or I blow her head off!"

Damian stopped twenty feet away. His shotgun was lowered at his side.

"Let her go, Victor," Damian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "This is between you and me."

"Drop the gun!" Victor screamed, his hand shaking violently against Elena’s head. "I swear to God, I'll kill her!"

Elena didn't panic. She looked at Damian, giving him a microscopic nod.

She remembered what she had told the High Council: I just need three seconds and a scalpel.

Elena tilted her head slightly, exposing Victor’s exposed right arm. She reached into her sleeve—where she had managed to conceal a small surgical needle scalpel she’d palmed from the estate’s medical kit—and jammed it three inches deep directly into Victor’s brachial nerve cluster in his inner elbow!

"AGHHH!" Victor shrieked in excruciating agony!

His fingers instantly went numb, and his pistol clattered harmlessly to the concrete floor!

Elena dropped to her knees, rolling out of the line of fire!

BOOM!

Damian raised his shotgun and fired a single, brutal round into Victor Calloway’s chest, lifting the mob boss off his feet and throwing his body fifteen feet backward into the dark, churning waters of the harbor!

Silas Sterling tried to run for a side door, but Cassian cut him off, putting two bullets through the traitor’s knees, bringing him crashing to the floor in tears.

The gunfire ceased. The warehouse fell dead quiet, save for the patter of rain against the broken roof.

Damian dropped his shotgun. He rushed across the blood-slick floor, dropping to his knees beside Elena, pulling her small, shaking frame into his arms.

"Elena... Elena..." Damian breathed out, his voice cracking with pure emotion as he held her tight, kissing her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you?"