WARNER #2
Unloading the clip into his midsection carries my pursuer backwards from the sheer force of multiple bullets, his spine cracking into the wall. I watch in delight as a large painting falls and smashes on top of his head.
“Warner!” Hyland booms, engulfed by three thugs. “On me!”
“Coming!”
Never thought I’d see the big man struggling. He’s being weighed down by three brutes, all grappling in a tangle of tatted fists and writhing limbs. I holster my gun then jump into the melee, blade raised.
My impact lands on the closest lump of meat, throwing us both off-balance. We twist and fall, colliding hard with the carpeted floor. A fist catches my jaw in the confusion, rocketing my head painfully to the side.
Hissing, I tighten my grip on the blade and attempt to direct it into the asshole’s left side. My aim is slightly off, nothing but air greeting my blade as another strike to the skull creates starbursts over my vision.
“Warner!” Someone shouts.
Another attempt. Still no dice. Crap, this dude won’t stop wriggling like a goddamn maggot. I can’t get a clear shot to incapacitate him. Just as panic settles in, there’s a blast of an unsilenced gun firing.
CRACK.
Boiling blood oozes over my face and neck. I splutter, almost swallowing some of it. The bucking weight on top of me slumps, quickly turning into a limp bag of bones. With a snarl, I shove the bastard aside, freeing my lungs to inflate.
“Wh-what—”
“Hey down there.”
Ember hovers over me like an avenging angel, gun in hand and chest heaving. There’re bruises forming on her face, fresh blood slicked over her hair and forehead. But fuck, she’s never looked so chaotically beautiful.
“Need a hand?” Her smile is lopsided.
“Th-thanks for the assistance, love.”
“Anytime, team leader. Give me your hand.”
I’m yanked upright and into her warm embrace. Despite the violence scattered around, we share a faster than light kiss. Blood and all. Goddamn, I love this fierce woman and all her craziness.
“That’s our cover blown!” Hudson wipes the sides of his red-stained blade on a trouser leg. “Advance to the third floor, now!”
“Gunnar?” Axel speaks urgently into his comms.
“Under fire,” comes a crackled response.
“Get the hostages out!” Hudson yells into his earpiece.
After a curse, Archer’s reply comes. “Trying to.”
Scanning us all, Hudson points to the nearby stairs. “Find him. I’ll hold off any more backup.”
“Hud,” I attempt to protest.
“Go! Now! I’m right behind you.”
All panting and sweat-slick, we make a silent decision to obey. If Madden’s private wing lies on the next level, we’re inching closer. We can’t leave here without confronting him. Not to mention securing Angela’s release.
Azrael and Blaine lead the group, closely followed by Hyland, providing them with cover. I urge Ember to race behind them with a hand pressed to her lower back, keeping my attention locked on our surroundings for any surprise threats.
The rich brocade wallpaper quickly becomes oppressive as we ascend to the higher level. To my surprise, there are no signs of life. Not a single guard or loaded gun. My heart rate explodes into an erratic pulse, prepared for the veil to be lifted at any moment.
“Which way?” Hyland spits out a crimson mouthful.
Azrael gestures for us to trail him. “Follow me.”
This floor is decorated just as lavishly, but there are subtle differences. The press of blinking CCTV cameras in each corner seems less. Artwork is softer, more subtle. Even scattered chairs with cushions adorn the long corridors, giving it a sense of home.
Down the winding hallway, Azrael draws to an abrupt halt ahead of us. We all stumble to stop when a crisp, formal voice bounces off the walls, echoing with supreme authority.
“Ah, Azrael. I should’ve known your loyalty wouldn’t last beyond the first stack of cash.”
“What would you know about loyalty?” Azrael thunders.
“Far more than the likes of you know, boy.”
Icy pinpricks of dread filter down my spine. At first, I found Blaine’s upper-class accent funny. It’s so counter intuitive to everything we know about him and his sordid past. Hearing it on his father is downright chilling.
Expression drawn, Blaine readies himself. “That’s him.”
“Here we go,” Axel mutters.
“Come out, Sabre Security. Claim your prize!”
As we round the final corner to catch up, the sprung trap comes into view. Sure enough, a welcome party awaits, though the muscle I expected to encounter hasn’t materialised. Instead, two individuals await to greet us in front of Azrael.
Nolan Madden hasn’t changed.
Silver-haired, golden skinned and dressed in a fine Italian suit that looks like it was expertly tailored to his cut form, he commands the hallway with authority that cannot be falsified.
It permeates the air around him. Even the sharp incline of his chin and fierce glint in his pale green eyes demand respect.
In contrast, the cowering woman kneeling at his feet trembles like a stray leaf caught in a windstorm. She’s paler than a ghost. Chestnut hair spilling free from a messy chignon to dance across the bruises that visibly stain her face. Even her clothing is ripped and blood-stained.
“Son.” Nolan fixes his gaze on Blaine. “You made it home.”
“This isn’t my home,” Blaine hisses back.
“I see your arrogance has not changed.”
“Release her, Father. This fight is between us.”
“My dear, sweet Angela?” Nolan’s laugh is a nasal drone, dripping with derision. “I think not. She remains by my side.”
“Blaine.” Angela peers up through teary eyes. “Please go.”
“No. Not without you!”
“P-P-Please,” she sobs listlessly.
Now at the head of our group, Azrael’s entire posture screams of vicious threat primed to explode and wreak havoc on Nolan Madden’s carefully laid plans. Any doubt I had about his intentions dissipates. He’s a vibrating vestibule of rocket fuel, primed to explode.
“After all these years… the empire I built for you.” Nolan’s lip curls, derisive and caustic. “This is how you repay me.”
“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Blaine hurls back.
“How dare you bring these scumbags into my home and strike me?”
“You destroyed our home,” Hyland seethes through clenched teeth. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Ah, Mr Wesson. How’s the son?”
As Hyland menacingly steps forward, Ember rushes to rest a hand on his bicep, trying to keep him calm. The motion draws Nolan’s attention to her, his sly smile broadening.
“Ah, 768. It’s an honour. We didn’t have the pleasure last time.”
“No, we did not.” She lays on a mocking tone thicker than nectar. “I was too busy slicing your business partner from ear-to-ear. Care for a reenactment?”
“I’m sure you would enjoy that, my dear.”
“Greatly,” she coos.
“Nevertheless, I’ll have to decline. I have a ride out of here secured. But first, I will be requiring that my traitorous son be returned to where he belongs.”
“You’ll have to prise him from our cold, dead hands,” I snap in fury.
“That can be arranged.” Nolan looks down at his fingernails, as though our presence is boring him.
“You and what army?” Hyland barks a laugh. “Your ranks are crumbling!”
True enough, the occasional scuffles that emanate through our earpieces indicate just how distracted his remaining men are. Nolan is without backup. Unprotected. We’ve got him cornered like a scared rat, though his confident veneer refuses to falter.
“I’m willing to gamble there are two people here who want a piece of my precious Angela for themselves.” Nolan nudges the gun at the base of her skull.
“Hurt a hair on her head, and face the consequences.” A steady calm emanates from Azrael.
“You think I didn’t know about your affair? It was hardly subtle. My own staff… All this time. Frankly, I’d rather enjoy painting the walls with her brains just to punish you.”
“Let her go.” Blaine inches closer, near-vibrating with rage.
“In exchange for what?” Nolan leers at him.
“You want me, right?”
“No!” Ember thrashes as Hyland wraps two iron bands around her.
He ignores us all, tensing in preparation to spring. “It’s a basic exchange. Surrender my mother, and I’ll come willingly. We can finish this between the two of us.”
“Why should I trust your word?” Nolan challenges.
“Because unlike you, I understand the value of family.” Forehead terse, Blaine spares us a quick glance. “If this is what it takes to free the woman who birthed me, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“No!” Angela cries weakly.
“Silence!” With a sudden pistol whip, Nolan strikes her exposed shoulder. “Do not speak or it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“You won’t have my son!”
“I said silence! Else your precious son will watch you die!”
She collapses into a helpless lump, sobbing freely. It only seems to steel Blaine further as his feet spread and shoulders tighten. He tucks his weapon, hands opening in a wide-open plea for mercy.
“Do you agree to the trade?”
“Blaine! Stop!” Ember bucks and fights, unable to shake off her captor.
I’m caught between tackling the man and waiting for his plan to unfold. This can’t be it. He isn’t so stupid. But I worry that Ember might not have another second in her. If she breaks free, she’ll go after him.
“You’re a fool, Blaine.” Nolan shakes his silver head in clear dismay. “I don’t know how I raised such a pathetic, weak excuse of a man.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Blaine responds with faux cheer. “Deal or not?”
“Toss the weapons. All of them.”
“Gladly.”
“You’re going to approach slow. No funny business.”
“Understood, Father.”
Without a word to the contrary, Azrael moves to let Blaine pass him. I’m internally screaming for someone to stop his approach. Even if deep down, I know it must be done. Angela won’t survive any other outcome.
Blaine tosses two guns and a handful of throwing knives, discarding the weapons straight onto the carpet. I watch Nolan track every metallic clank. At his feet, Angela cries without hope, unable to even look at her son headed to her rescue.
About a metre away, Blaine pauses with his hands still raised. “Release her.”