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Chapter 18 - The ResurrectionBlood dripped from a fresh bandage across Prescott’s forehead, but the sadistic, smug grin plastered across his face was unmistakable. He wasn't dead. The bullet Elena had fired into his skull two weeks ago had been deflected by a reinforced subdermal titanium plate in his frontal lobe—a high-tech survival implant funded by the very syndicate we thought we had dismantled.

"Did you really think a little 9mm love tap was going to put me in the ground, boss?" Prescott laughed darkly, stepping over the shattered wreckage of the boardroom doors, his assault rifle leveled squarely at my chest.

I scrambled to my feet, raising my sidearm, but Marcus and I were instantly swarmed by half a dozen tactical operatives who slammed us against the mahogany conference table, disarming us in a blur of violence and pinning our arms behind our backs.

Sterling stood up smoothly from his chair, brushing a speck of dust off his bespoke suit jacket as he walked over to Prescott, patting him on the shoulder like a proud father.

"Well executed, Prescott," Sterling praised coldly. "The theatrical performance in Chicago was brilliant. Faking your death forced Mercer out into the open, flushed out his remaining loyalists, and brought the entire syndicate right back into our control."

I glared at Prescott, rage burning through my veins like liquid fire. "You betrayed every oath you swore to my family."

"Oaths don't pay the bills, Lawson. Power does," Prescott sneered, walking up to me and pistol-whipping me across the cheek with the butt of his rifle. The taste of copper flooded my mouth, but I didn't flinch. I stared straight into his eyes.

Elena was the only one who hadn't been pinned by the guards. She stood near the shattered doorway, her submachine gun raised, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she looked at Prescott, Sterling, and the army surrounding us.

"Put the weapon down, Elena," Prescott commanded, turning his cold gaze toward her. "You’ve played your little redemption arc. Now drop the gun before we turn you and your new friends into Swiss cheese."

Elena looked from Prescott to me, her chest heaving as tears streamed down her face. For a long, agonizing second, the silence in the room was absolute.

"I'm sorry, Lawson," she whispered, her voice cracking with absolute despair.

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Then, she slowly lowered her weapon, letting it drop to the hardwood floor with a heavy clatter.

Sterling smiled triumphantly, gesturing to his guards. "Strap them to the chairs. It's time we ended the Mercer bloodline once and for all."

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