WARNER
REMEMBER THE NAME - FORT MINOR & STYLES OF BEYOND
Nolan Madden’s newly acquired countryside estate truly lives up to its name. I have no idea how he secured such a vast display of wealth. There’s no question that selling skin comes with a hefty price tag. But this? It’s grandiose. Sickeningly so. I want to see it fucking burn.
From our crouched position behind a tall, red brick wall leading to what would’ve been the staff entrance a century ago, we have the perfect vantage point to see our mysterious contact emerging.
I didn’t know what to expect of some rogue mercenary.
A tattooed, glaring beast with more visible guns than sense lives up to the stereotype.
“Fuck me.” Axel voices my thoughts. “Can’t believe this dude is real.”
“You’ve heard of him?” I ask him.
“When I worked for MI-5, we regularly tapped into black-market dealings for intelligence purposes. I heard enough whispers about The Angel of Death to wonder what kind of person earned such a title.”
“Stupid name.” Hyland is crouched uncomfortably low. “Fucking Azrael?”
“It’s a code name,” Blaine replies.
“You’d know all about those, Phantom.”
“And I suppose the Anaconda Team is original?” He laughs back without malice.
“At least it’s more covert,” Hyland argues hotly.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Will you lot shut the fuck up?” Hudson rises, his gun at the ready. “Here he comes.”
We all shift into formation, silent and deadly. I seal myself to Ember like superglue. She might’ve instigated this plan, but I’m not about to trust some stranger with a reputation like his. Regardless of his supposed allegiance to Blaine’s mother.
The infamous man himself scans some kind of security pass to swing open the locked gate, his attention fixed on where the CCTV camera ahead winks out of existence. The level of access he has is downright impressive. He’s fully infiltrated Madden’s ranks.
“You gonna stand there or what?” He adopts a slow, unbothered monotone “We’re on the clock.”
“Where is my mother?” Blaine demands.
Azrael’s mouth pinches, drawn into a dark glower. “She was summoned by Madden while I cleared the way. I believe she’s in his private wing now. Third floor.”
“You let her out of your sight?” Ember stamps towards him.
“Easy, I’m balancing a lot of spinning plates here. Angela can handle herself. She knows I wouldn’t leave this place without her.”
“We vowed to get her out.” Ember is practically vibrating with anger. “That’s a little hard to do when she’s in that monster’s clutches!”
Blaine unsheathes a glinting hunting knife. “I’ll get her.”
Before he can march past, Hudson flashes out a hand to halt him. “We all go in together. Stick to the plan.”
“She is my mother!”
“And we’ll get her out. I don’t break my promises.”
Following Ember’s route, I lay a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and clasp it. “She’ll be okay.”
“The minute my father hears our approach, he’ll kill her. She’s expendable to him.”
“She survived this long, Blaine. That doesn’t scream of expendable to me.”
“He’s right.” Azrael’s concession is reluctant. “Nolan has an affection for her that works in our favour.”
Blaine visibly deflates as we file into position behind Azrael’s massive bulk, all armed and prepared for the route ahead. While he may have redirected Madden’s security, I doubt the manufactured peace will last for long once fighting breaks out.
“Falcon Team, in position?” I hear Hudson’s question through my earpiece.
“Copy,” Archer responds after a second. “We’re approaching the east wing on foot, no sign of guards. Ready to launch evacuation efforts.”
“Affirmative.”
“Assets are held in the basement.” Head on a swivel, Azrael guides us into the unknown. “Security remains tight in that location despite recent self-offs. We still have significant stock.”
“We’re not leaving without those women,” Ember growls at him.
“You’re in for a hell of a fight.”
“We’re not afraid of that.”
He visibly assesses her with not a single fuck given. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. I intend to retrieve Angela and ensure she escapes alive. That’s it.”
“Direct us then,” Hudson orders.
“The basement is accessible through a service corridor underneath the staff kitchens, west wing. You’ll pass through no less than twenty armed guards, monitoring approximately thirteen occupied cells.”
“Thirteen?” Axel gasps.
“We had close to three figures at one point.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Ember turns a tad green. “So many people.”
“Many have been sold by now.”
Hudson relays this information into his comms, giving the Falcon Team a location to penetrate. With their mission assigned, it leaves us to focus on decimating Madden’s ranks and striking the kingpin himself. I’m not leaving without seeing his corpse.
Anticipatory silence welcomes us inside the stately home’s shaded interior. It’s cool in the winter chill. Drafty. Checkered marble floors swallow our footsteps, the opulent decor lit by grand chandeliers that dapple sparkling flecks on every inch of crystal and glass.
The emptiness is unnerving, every fine hair on my body bolting upright. I oscillate my gaze around the maze of formal rooms and fire-lit parlours, increasingly disgusted by the grossness of his illegal wealth.
Alarm forms a sizzling lightning bolt as steps descend upon our location. By the time two dark-clothed guards emerge, Azrael has moved faster than any of us can track, tackling them one by one with little more than a grunt.
The first body drops with an audible crack, neck warped at an unnatural angle. I watch in horror as he rapidly takes out the second target, their throat crushed under Azrael’s powerful and unrelenting grip.
“Cleared the way, huh?” Blaine taunts.
Azrael glares at him. “Not all plans are perfect.”
“How do we access the third floor?” I redirect the men.
Seeming to holster his rage, Azrael straightens, wiping his hands clean. “Follow me.”
Ember takes the lead in front of me where I can keep her within reach. I’m sure Hyland is feeling the same. Neither of us are willing to let her out of our sight. At least not until Madden is dead.
We’re led through a warren of lofty rooms, each more pointless than the last. Estates like this aren’t fit for living in. Not unless you want to navigate a hundred performative rooms with more furniture than purpose on a daily basis.
As we’re passing our third formal sitting room—complete with an empty fireplace and untouched baby grand piano—the next beat of steps interrupts our progress. Azrael raises a balled-up hand, indicating for us to pause.
“Hear that?” Hyland mutters.
Azrael’s head cocks, keenly listening for whoever stands in our path.
“…late again but continues to throw cash at this stupid vendetta…”
“I’m out of here as soon as I get paid.”
“You think that’s an option?”
“…not working for free.”
Conversation floats towards us on dust-laden air particles. Hah. Even Madden’s staff are becoming disillusioned. I wish that meant we could spare them, but let’s face it, anyone taking money to work for a prolific mobster is hardly innocent.
“On three.” Hudson’s command is barely audible. “Not a sound.”
All indicating our assent, the group moves as one perfectly timed blur of violence.
Hyland slams into his target, ramming a fist into his shocked face before silencing the scream.
By comparison, Blaine moves in for the kill with precision, sweeping legs and slashing throats faster than any sound can erupt.
There’s no time to waste when a second wave emerges, this time carrying five armed guards. I quickly slot the silencer into place on my pistol then advance. We brutally clash somewhere in the middle, but I manage to pop off a leg shot that incapacitates my attacker.
He drops harder than a sack of potatoes, allowing me to dispense a precise kill shot between the eyes.
On my left, Axel grapples with his own meathead, flashing me a grin as I dump another round into the fucker’s back.
It allows Axel to gain the upper hand and knife his target right across the neck.
“Thanks.” He gives me a fist bump.
“Anytime. Where’s Ember?”
He gestures towards where our girl stands braced over a pool of spilled blood, chest undulating hard. I meet her stormy eyes and steal a sliver of relief from the clarity peering back at me.
“You good?” I double-check.
Ember nods. “Fine.”
“We need to move.” Azrael’s face is misted red. “Now!”
The buzz of comms in my ear where Hudson communicates with his brother is of little distraction. We vacate the room to ascend a large, curved staircase lacquered in a deep mahogany finish. Three more bodies block the path, soon falling victim to our assault.
Madden’s mansion seems to stretch on infinitely. Even the stairs wind upward in a never-ending loop, carrying us to floors high above the graveyard below. At the same time, the Falcon Team is descending into the bowels of purgatory to extract the captives.
The second floor opens up with wine-red carpets and more ugly oil paintings. This slice of sickening luxury is hardly the criminal mastermind lair that precedes Nolan Madden’s reputation.
“Incoming!” Hudson bellows.
“From where?” I whirl around, frantically scanning our surroundings.
“Everywhere!”
The attack launches from all directions. A whole cluster of armed assailants leap from the floor above to rain fury down on us while pockets of thugs emerge from their postings in various rooms, ready to unleash war.
I try to lunge towards Ember, intent on covering her rear, but pursuit is blocked by the arrival of a tall stack of muscles. Sans mask, he wears an eager grin, his silver switchblade open and ready to slice me wide open.
“Warner Mead,” he rumbles.
“You know me?”
“I’ve been warned. Coming here was a mistake.”
“The mistake is all yours, my friend.”
My reflexive step back creates a near-miss. This only seems to infuriate the bulked-up dude more. Curving the blade through the air, he advances towards me, slashing and stabbing in a rageful thirst.
Sloppy.
I’m not one to play with my kill.