Chapter 8 - Siege at Forty Floors"Vance," I said without turning around. "How many men do we have left in the city?"
"About thirty loyalists from Carl's old guard," Vance replied, his hand resting on his holster. "They're stationed in the parking garage and the lobby. But Viktor’s strike team is coming up the elevators right now. Security feeds show them on floor thirty-eight."
"Let them come," I said, standing up from the desk. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the ant-like stream of police cars and civilian traffic far below. "Carl spent his whole life protecting me from the shadows. It's time I stepped into the light."
The heavy steel reinforced doors of the penthouse elevator chimed.
Ding.
The doors slid open.
Silence descended on the penthouse. Vance stepped in front of me, raising his weapon, his muscles coiled like a spring.
Heavy, tactical boots echoed across the marble floor of the foyer. Five men dressed in black tactical gear, carrying submachine guns and wearing the Iron Cobra insignia, poured into the open-plan living room.
"Don't move!" the lead operative barked, raising his weapon toward Vance.
Before he could pull the trigger, the glass windows behind the operatives shattered inward.
Three of Carl's loyalists dropped through the window frames on rappel ropes, landing silently behind the intruders like ghosts. In a blur of motion, disarming strikes cracked through the room. Guns clattered to the marble floor, and within ten seconds, Viktor’s strike team was pinned face-down on the ground.
Vance didn't flinch. He walked over to the lead operative, pressing the barrel of his pistol against the man's temple.
"Tell Viktor his delivery has arrived," Vance said coldly.
The operative gasped for air, terrified. "He... he's waiting at the docks. Warehouse twelve. He said if you want a final showdown, you bring the girl and the key."
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I walked over, looking down at the pinned man. My heart didn't race; my hands didn't shake. The blood of the Syndicate ran through my veins, quiet, deadly, and absolute.
"Tell Viktor I'll be there in twenty minutes," I whispered. "And tell him to dig his own grave."
