Chapter 2 - The St. Jude’s AmbushThe private clinic was supposed to be a fortress. Vincent had deployed four of his best operators—men who could clear a room in three seconds flat—to secure the pediatric wing. But money could buy loyalty, and then there was corporate blackmail.
Leo giggled as the pediatrician checked his heartbeat with a cold stethoscope, dangling a plastic dinosaur in front of his face.
"You're as healthy as a little wolf cub," the doctor smiled, though his hands shook slightly as he wrote the clearance form.
Outside in the corridor, the lead security guard, a veteran named Miller, checked his watch. 10:04 AM. Something felt wrong. The hallway hummed with an unnatural silence. No nurses. No janitors. Just the sterile smell of antiseptic and the slow, heavy drip of a leaking pipe somewhere above.
Miller reached for his earpiece. "Command, check in—"
A silenced round pierced his throat before he could finish the syllable. He collapsed silently against the tiled wall, sliding down in a smear of crimson.
From the shadows of the fire exit, three mercenaries in black tactical gear stepped out, their faces obscured by matte-black balaclavas. Leading them was Vance, stepping over Miller's body with casual cruelty.
Inside Room 4, Vincent felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Years of survival instinct screamed at him. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the linoleum.
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"Leo. Stay behind me," Vincent ordered, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal register that made hardened killers drop their weapons.
The door handle clicked.
