Chapter 6 - War at The Gilded Spoon
The heavy glass pitcher shattered against Marcus’s jaw with a sickening crunch, sending the fixer crashing backward into the door frame, his pistol clattering across the linoleum floor.
The two security thugs lunged forward instantly, but Richard was already moving. Years of working in high-pressure restaurant kitchens had given him lightning-fast reflexes and brutal physical strength. He grabbed a heavy metal IV pole, ripping it from its moorings, and swung it in a vicious arc, catching the first thug squarely across the collarbone. The man bellowed in pain and collapsed.
The second thug tackled Richard to the floor, pinning him beneath his heavy weight, raising a fist to strike.
"Dad!" Michael screamed.
Before the thug could land the blow, a sudden, blinding flash filled the room.
Bang!
The heavy oak door swung fully open. Standing in the doorway was Dr. Aris Thorne, holding a heavy-duty medical oxygen tank he had just dropped, flanked by three armed hospital security guards who had heard the muffled commotion.
"Drop your weapons! Federal police are already on their way!" the head guard roared, leveling a shotgun straight at the remaining thug’s chest.
The thug froze, slowly raising his hands off Richard.
Marcus groaned from the floor, clutching his broken, bloody nose, spitting out a tooth. "You... you're dead, Morgan. Hale will strip you of every penny you own before the sun comes up."
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Richard stood up, straightening his torn, blood-stained shirt with cold, terrifying dignity. He walked over, picked up the fallen pistol, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then he looked down at Marcus.
"Tell Victor Hale," Richard whispered, his voice like grinding ice, "that breakfast is canceled."
