Chapter3

The elevator doors slid apart. Mahler's symphony surged out like a tidal wave, slamming into the fresh mud on the soles of my tactical boots.

Inside the gilded banquet hall, it was a sea of haute couture and expensive perfume. A city councilor clinked glasses with a top-tier lawyer, while a police chief, sporting a senior badge, chewed on a cigar and held court. But as their eyes locked onto the intruder in the doorway—a man dressed in cheap black tactical gear, reeking of cordite and motor oil—the chatter died instantly.

The symphony played on, but the hall plunged into a silence so absolute you could hear a pin drop.

After a fleeting moment of shock, a chorus of harsh, mocking laughter erupted from the crowd.

"Where the hell is security? How did a tramp get in here?"

"That stench could drop a bull. Did he take a bath in the sewers?"

Cutting through the jeers, the sharp click of stilettos on marble closed in fast. Elena, draped in a diamond-encrusted silver haute couture gown, halted before me like an arrogant swan. Seven years had passed. The adoration that once filled her eyes was gone, replaced entirely by a condescending disgust.

She tilted her chin up and snapped her wrist.

Pale gold champagne slashed across my face, dripping from my jawline onto my tactical jacket.

"You piece of convict trash. You actually have the nerve to stain the carpets here?" Elena stepped back in revulsion, as if proximity alone might infect her. "Victor said you would come crawling back like a dog, but I didn't believe it. It seems Black Sea Prison trained you well."

Her words drew roaring laughter from the onlookers. The police chief blew out a thick cloud of cigar smoke, resting his hand on the Glock holstered at his waist. He jutted his chin toward the center of the room. "Mr. Victor, if you need, my boys can teach him some manners. For a felon with a history of extreme violence, even if we empty a full magazine into him right here, the paperwork back at the precinct writes itself."

"No need to trouble yourself, Chief."

The crowd parted seamlessly to form a path. Deep within a premium leather sofa in the dead center of the hall, Victor was meticulously snipping the cap off a Cohiba. He held the cigar in his left hand, while the fingertips of his right hand idly twirled a pitch-black remote detonator.

"Give him a hand, gentlemen." Victor stood up, his gaze sweeping over me like he was inspecting damaged goods. "From the West District ruins to here in just twenty-five minutes. With stamina like that, no wonder he was our former shooting champion."

He strolled over to a cluttered dining table and picked up a silver platter heaped with bloody steak bones and cold, half-eaten scraps.

Clang.

He casually hurled the platter at my feet. Thick, dark gravy splattered across the toes of my boots.

"On your knees. Lick the bones clean." Victor pointed at the mess on the floor. His voice wasn't loud, but it dripped with absolute, arrogant control. "Then call me 'Master' three times. I might just consider taking my thumb off this button, and let your crippled sister live for a few more hours."

The elites raised their glasses, thoroughly entertained by this spectacle of power. Elena handed her empty flute to a passing waiter, pulled out her phone, and switched it to video mode, aiming the lens dead at my face.

"Hurry up, everyone is waiting for the show," she urged, her voice trembling with poorly disguised excitement. "The former tough guy, groveling on the floor licking bones—it will be an absolute masterpiece."

The ice-cold champagne trailed down my neck. I didn't wipe the liquor from my face, nor did I look down at the garbage at my feet.

My gaze bypassed Victor's shoulder entirely, locking straight onto the massive, panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the hall.

Outside lay the abyssal night sky of the West Coast. High-altitude wind currents battered the bulletproof glass, emitting a low, muffled roar. Everyone in the room thought I was paralyzed by fear; no one paid any attention to the seemingly tranquil darkness beyond the glass.

Only I could hear the extremely faint, high-frequency vibrations pulsing through my tactical earpiece. It was a specially encrypted tactical comms signal.

Right above the heads of these toasting dignitaries, in a night sky devoid of any radar warnings, twelve Shadow Assault operatives in pitch-black stealth tactical gear were repelling down nano-fiber ropes. Like nocturnal owls, they hung silently upside down just outside the window.

The faint, flickering infrared laser sights dancing across the exterior glass had already locked dead onto the throats of every armed bodyguard in the hall.

"What's wrong? Did Black Sea Prison shatter your kneecaps too?" Seeing me stand still, Victor's eyes darkened, his thumb slowly pressing down on the detonator button. "Or maybe you want to see the fireworks go off firsthand?"

Feeling the rhythmic tap-code through my earpiece, the muscles in my knees began to subtly coil.

Three minutes left on the countdown. And the storm of destruction was already hanging right above their heads.