Chapter 56 Into Hostile Territory
Finding the company took one search on his phone.
Ryan parked outside the six-story building and walked in.
“Good morning. Who are you here to see?” the receptionist asked.
“Mr. Lawson. He’s expecting me.”
“Your name?”
“Carter. Kyle Lawson knows about it. We spoke three days ago.”
She made a call, then smiled.
“Sixth floor. Mr. Lawson is in his office.”
“Thank you.”
Ryan took the elevator up.
The doors opened onto a broad corridor lined with tables. Thirty or forty men were playing cards. Every conversation stopped as he stepped out.
Machetes and steel clubs lay within easy reach.
“Quite a gathering.”
He lit a cigarette and walked forward. Cards went down. Hands closed around weapons.
A man with a large tattoo across his bare chest stepped into the aisle.
Ryan stopped.
“I’m here to see your boss. Excuse me.”
“Road’s closed. Get lost.”
“Looks open to me.”
“Then try getting past.”
Ryan drew on the cigarette, making the tip flare red, then blew smoke into the man’s face.
“What the—”
He pressed the burning end against the man’s chest.
The man screamed and recoiled. Then he charged.
Chairs scraped behind him as the others stood.
Before his fist could land, Ryan planted a palm against his cheek and shoved him sideways into a table.
The impact boomed down the corridor.
The man slid unconscious to the floor.
For a second, no one moved. Ryan had walked into a room full of armed men and attacked one of them without a trace of hesitation.
“Kill him!” someone shouted.
Weapons rose.
The office door at the far end opened.
“Stop.”
Kyle stepped out and looked at Ryan.
“Mr. Carter. This way, please.”
The men reluctantly parted.
Ryan walked between them.
“Another few seconds and the emergency room would have had a busy day.”
Kyle’s stomach tightened. Ryan had said three days, and here he was, walking through the front entrance as though keeping an ordinary appointment.
He really meant to kill Vince.
Which of them would leave alive?
“This way,” Kyle repeated, indicating the office.
Ryan entered and looked around.
Vince sat behind the desk in a black T-shirt, a heavy gold watch on his wrist. Two men stood beside him.
One had cropped hair and wore metal gauntlets that enclosed his fists in hard edges. Iron Fist, presumably.
The other was bald, with tattoos covering his scalp and spilling onto his face. His vicious stare made the nickname Ghoul easy to understand.
Both remaining enforcers, with several dozen men outside. Vince had prepared thoroughly.
“It takes nerve to walk into another man’s territory,” Vince said. “Unfortunately for you, this is where it ends.”