Chapter 2 - THE AMBUSH AT WESTLAKE
Ethan didn't panic. Panic was an luxury for men who didn't know how to kill.
He slipped the silver memory card into his encrypted field reader, secured it inside his tactical vest, and moved silently toward the back terrace.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass paneling of the kitchen, he saw three figures advancing across the manicured lawn. They wore dark tactical gear, carrying suppressed submachine guns. These weren't street thugs hired from the slums of East Austin. These were high-end private military contractors—the kind Blackwood Enterprises retained for "asset protection."
Victor didn't just order a hit, Ethan thought, his vision narrowing with icy clarity. He deployed a private army.
The front door buckled inward with a soft, hydraulic pop as a breach tool destroyed the lock.
"Search the perimeter," a harsh voice commanded from the foyer. It was Marcus Blackwood, the eldest brother. "Find the drive. If Walker is still here, make it look like a tragic suicide. He couldn't handle his wife's brain death."
Brain death?
The phrase hit Ethan like a physical blow. When he left the hospital twenty minutes ago, Claire was stable in the ICU. Had something happened? Or was Marcus speaking of an event that had already been scheduled?
Ethan slipped into the shadows of the secondary kitchen pantry. As the first contractor stepped into the kitchen, his weapon raised, Ethan struck.
He grabbed the barrel of the suppressed weapon, driving it downward while thrusting his palm into the man’s larynx. The contractor choked on air, dropping to his knees. Ethan twisted the man's arm, disarming him in a fluid motion, and drove the butt of the rifle directly into his temple. The operator collapsed silently to the tile floor.
Before the second man could clear the doorway, Ethan fired three double-taps into the drywall at chest height. The drywall disintegrated, and the contractor behind it collapsed with a heavy thud.
Marcus’s voice echoed down the corridor, laced with sudden adrenaline. "Suppression fire! Kill him!"
Ethan dropped to the floor as a hail of submachine-gun fire tore through the kitchen cabinetry, shattering porcelain, glass, and marble. He rolled behind the central island, pulled a smoke canister from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the hallway.
Dense gray smoke filled the ground floor within seconds.
Using the thermals on his tactical night-vision goggles, Ethan moved through the smoke like a ghost. He bypassed Marcus, stepping up behind the third contractor, neutralizing him with a sleeper hold, and easing his unconscious body to the ground.
When the smoke began to clear, Marcus Blackwood found himself standing alone in the center of the ruined living room, his weapon shaking in his hands.
Ethan materialized out of the haze behind him.
He didn't fire a bullet. Instead, he stepped in close, grabbed Marcus by the collar, and slammed him face-first into the heavy oak dining table—the very table where Claire had served family dinners to her brothers every Thanksgiving.
"Where is she?" Ethan's voice was a low, terrifying rasp in Marcus's ear.
Marcus spat blood onto the polished table, chuckling through broken teeth. "You think... you think you're fighting us, soldier? You don't know shit. Claire isn't the victim here. She was the one who set the trap."
Ethan pressed the burning-hot barrel of the suppressed rifle against the back of Marcus's knee joint. "Give me a reason."
"Check the memory card, Walker!" Marcus wheezed, his bravado cracking under the sheer pressure of Ethan's grip. "Look at the time stamp on the transfer! She sold you out three days before you even stepped foot on that plane to Oregon! She didn't get beaten because of family secrets... she got beaten because she tried to double-cross the cartel Victor owes fifty million dollars to!"
Ethan froze.
Marcus used the momentary hesitation to drive his elbow back into Ethan’s ribs, breaking free and tumbling toward the shattered front door. He scrambled into the waiting SUV outside, tire rubber screaming against the driveway as the vehicle sped into the dark night.
Ethan stood alone in the quiet, smoke-filled house.
His chest heaved. He reached into his vest, pulled out the encrypted field reader, and booted up the silver memory card Eli had left in the safe.
The screen lit up with a secure directory containing audio files, wire transfers, and video logs.
Ethan clicked the first video file, dated four days ago.
The high-definition video showed Claire sitting in a dimly lit hotel room in downtown Austin. But she wasn't alone. Sitting across from her was Victor Blackwood... and the lead detective from the Austin Police Department who had just filed her assault as a "home invasion."
Claire wasn't cowering. She was handing the detective a thick Manila envelope.
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And her voice on the clear audio recording sent a chill through Ethan’s marrow deeper than any bullet ever could:
"Once Ethan is eliminated on his Oregon assignment, the insurance payout clears Blackwood Enterprises' debt. Make sure the hit on the coast looks clean."
