Chapter 8 - VANCE’S RECKONINGHigh-intensity headlights blinded the kidnappers instantly.
From the shadows of the alley, a massive, muscular silhouette materialized like an apparition of death. It was Vance, flanked by three men in heavy tactical gear, their suppressors raised and locked dead on the intruders.
"Drop her," Vance’s voice boomed, flat and lethal.
The Moretti operative holding Mara froze, his hand tightening around her neck. "Back off! One move and her throat gets—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
A heavy, suppressed thud echoed through the alley. A clean bullet tore through the brick wall two inches from the operative's ear, showering him in concrete dust.
"Wrong answer," Vance muttered.
Before the kidnapper could react, Vance closed the distance with terrifying speed. A brutal, crushing blow to the jaw sent the man flying backward into a stack of metal crates, unconscious before he hit the ground. The second operative tried to raise his rifle, but a synchronized burst of three shots from the flanking guards shattered both of his shoulders, dropping him to his knees with a shriek of agony.
Mara stumbled forward, catching herself against the brick wall, gasping for breath as her knees turned to water.
Vance stepped up to her, his face completely expressionless despite the violence that had just unfolded in seconds. He offered a heavy, gloved hand to steady her.
"You alright, Miss Ellison?"
May you like
"I... I think so," Mara stammered, clutching her bruised throat. She looked down at the unconscious men, then up at Vance. "Where is Adrian?"
"Heading to Staten Island," Vance said grimly, tapping his earpiece. "The boss just declared war."
