The heavy iron beams of the industrial bridge loomed ahead like the ribcage of a dead giant. Rain lashed against the windshield in sheets, blurring the world into a gray smear of concrete and steel. Thomas gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the headlights of the three black vans behind us flared in the rearview mirror. They were closing the distance, their engines roaring with a predatory hunger.
"Master, they’re flanking us," Thomas said, his voice tight with the professional calm of a man who had seen war. "They have no intention of talking. Marcus Vance has given them a kill order."
I didn't answer. I felt a strange, rhythmic thrumming in my chest, a cold heat that seemed to synchronize with the wipers. My senses were heightening by the second; I could hear the internal combustion of the engines behind us, the clicking of safety catches being flipped off in the lead van. I wasn't afraid. For the first time in three years, I felt alive.
"Stop the car," I commanded.
"Master?" Thomas looked at me in shock. "We're in a kill zone. If we stop, we’re sitting ducks."
"I said, stop the car," I repeated, my voice vibrating with an authority that left no room for debate. "They want the Kaelen heir. It’s time they met him."
Thomas slammed on the brakes. The SUV skidded across the slick metal grating of the bridge, coming to a halt directly in the center. Behind us, the three vans screeched to a stop, forming a semi-circle that boxed us in against the rusted railing. The doors flew open, and a dozen men in tactical gear stepped out. They weren't common street thugs; they were professionals, holding high-caliber submachine guns with the steady hands of seasoned killers.
I stepped out of the vehicle before Thomas could even reach for his sidearm. The rain soaked into my tailored coat instantly, the weight of it grounding me. I stood alone in the center of the bridge, my hands empty, facing twelve barrels of cold steel.
"Which one of you is the leader?" I asked, my voice carrying over the howl of the wind.
A man with a jagged scar running across his throat stepped forward, his weapon aimed squarely at my heart. "It doesn't matter who I am, kid. Marcus Vance paid a lot of money to make sure you never walk off this bridge. He said to tell you that a 'nobody' should never have touched his son."
"A nobody?" I let out a short, dry laugh that sounded like breaking glass. I looked down at the emerald ring on my finger, the deep green stone pulsing with a light that seemed to pierce through the gloom. "Marcus Vance is a fool. He thinks he’s hunting a rabbit, but he’s walked straight into a dragon’s den."
"Kill him," the scarred man barked.
Time slowed down. I could see the muscles in their trigger fingers tensing. In that split second, the explosive strength I had felt earlier erupted. I wasn't just moving; I was a blur of lethal precision. I dove forward as the first volley of lead tore through the air where I had been standing a millisecond before.
I reached the first mercenary before he could even register that I had moved. I drove my palm into his chest, the impact sounding like a sledgehammer hitting a brick wall. His ribs shattered, and he was launched backward, crashing into the windshield of the lead van with enough force to spiderweb the glass.
The others panicked, turning their weapons toward me, but I was already among them. I was a ghost in the rain, a predator moving through a flock of doomed sheep. I caught a gun barrel with my bare hand, twisting the cold steel as if it were made of clay, and used the weapon as a club to send its owner spiraling over the bridge railing.
The scarred leader roared in fury, pulling a combat knife and lunging at my throat. I didn't even flinch. I caught his wrist mid-air, the same way I had crushed Gerald's earlier, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"You should have checked the name on the contract before you took it," I whispered. "The Kaelen family doesn't have a price. We own the currency you’re being paid in."
I snapped his wrist like a dry twig and delivered a kick to his midsection that sent him sliding twenty feet across the wet metal. The remaining mercenaries froze, their weapons lowered. They had seen men fight before, but they had never seen a human move with this kind of raw, terrifying power.
I stood in the center of the carnage, my chest barely heaving, my eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. The rain washed the blood from my knuckles as I turned back toward the SUV.
Thomas stood by the open door, his jaw dropped, his hand still hovering over his holstered pistol. He had known the Kaelen family was powerful, but he had never imagined the Young Master possessed the combat skills of a legendary God of War.
"Thomas," I said, my voice returning to its calm, icy baseline. "Call the Vance estate. Tell Marcus his 'elite' team is currently decorating the industrial bridge. And tell him that if I see a single Vance employee on the streets tomorrow, I will consider it a personal declaration of war."
I stepped back into the warmth of the SUV, the emerald ring on my finger now dark and silent once more.
"Where to now, Master?" Thomas asked, his voice shaking with newfound awe.
"The Hawthorne mansion," I said, looking out at the city skyline. "Elara’s father will be back from the police station by now. He thinks he’s lost his company, but he hasn't even begun to feel the true meaning of loss. I want to see his face when he realizes who the 'poor student' really was."
The SUV pulled away, leaving the broken men and twisted metal behind in the dark.
As we drove, my phone chimed with a message from an unknown number. I opened it, expecting another threat. Instead, it was a photo. A photo of Mia, hooked up to monitors in the hospital, and a man in a doctor's coat standing over her with a syringe filled with a strange, glowing blue liquid.
The caption read: “You saved her once, Ethan. Can you save her from the poison already in her veins?”