The stranger’s hand trembled so violently that his phone almost slipped from his grip. He wore a dark green Bradley University hoodie pulled low over his forehead, his eyes darting back toward the empty hallway like a hunted animal.

Then I turned to Marcus’s desk. His laptop was unlocked, displaying a group chat on a secure messaging app called Telegram.

I leaned over and read the recent messages:

Marcus: Did Brody wash the bat? Tyler: Yeah, wiped with bleach and torched in the bonfire pit behind the house. Marcus: Good. Dad’s guy is handling the dad tonight. He hired some local muscle to make sure Mercer leaves town by morning.

My stomach sank.

They were targeting me. But more importantly—they were targeting the hospital.

I whipped out my phone and dialed Mac immediately.

"Mac!" I whispered loudly into the receiver. "They're sending someone to the hospital!"

Static buzzed over the line. "Dan? ...Can't hear... signal lost..."

"Mac! Get Lily out of there!" I shouted, but the line went completely dead.

Suddenly, the lights in Marcus’s bedroom slammed on.

standing in the doorway was Marcus Vance himself, flanked by Brody, Tyler, and two massive guys who looked like college offensive linemen.

Marcus had a cruel smirk on his face, holding an electronic signal jammer in his left hand. "Looking for something, Mr. Mercer?"

I stood up slowly, keeping my hands visible. "You're done, Marcus. I have your cufflink. I have your bloody shirt. And I have your chat logs."

Marcus laughed—a high, entitled cackle that echoed off the high ceiling. "You think any of that matters? You broke into private property. Anything you take from this room is fruit of the poisonous tree. Inadmissible in court."

"This isn't a courtroom," I said softly, stepping around the desk.

Brody stepped forward, holding an iron fireplace poker. "You shouldn't have come here, old man. You should have taken the Senator’s money and walked away."

"I'm giving you one chance," I said, locking eyes with Marcus. "Call off the men you sent to the hospital."

"Too late for that," Marcus chuckled. "My dad’s guys are already clearing out the fifth floor at Mercy General. By the time you get there, your precious daughter will have suffered a sudden, tragic 'respiratory failure' from her injuries. And you? You're going to die right here in a 'burglary gone wrong.'"

The four boys closed in on me.

Brody swung the fireplace poker violently toward my head.

Years of military muscle memory took over instantly. I slipped under the heavy iron bar, stepped inside Brody’s guard, and drove a brutally hard palm strike into his chin. His teeth clicked together, and he dropped like a sack of bricks.

Tyler lunged next with a pocket knife. I caught his wrist, twisted it outward until the bone popped, and slammed his face into the edge of the mahogany desk. He crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony.

The two football players hesitated, shocked by how fast their friends had been neutralized.

"Get him!" Marcus screamed, stepping back toward the hallway door.

The first giant lunged. I ducked his clumsy haymaker, drove a knee hard into his solar plexus, and followed up with an elbow to the back of his neck. He hit the carpet, gasping for air.

The second giant backed away, raising his hands in surrender, his eyes wide with horror.

I didn't waste time on him. I sprang past him into the hallway, chasing Marcus.

Marcus was sprinting down the grand staircase toward the front doors. "Help! Security!" he yelled.

I leaped over the top four steps, landing heavily on the landing below, and tackled Marcus across the hardwood floor. We slammed into the front entryway, shattering a decorative glass table.

I rolled over, pinned Marcus to the floor with my knee on his chest, and grabbed him by the collar.

"Call them off!" I roared, slamming him against the floor. "Call off the hit at the hospital!"

"Fuck you!" Marcus spat, blood leaking from a cut on his lip.

I pressed my thumb hard into the nerve cluster behind his jawline. Pain shot through his face, and he screamed in agony.

"I spent twelve years in special operations, boy," I whispered coldly into his ear. "I know forty different ways to inflict maximum pain without leaving a mark. Give me your phone and call off your father’s men, or I will break every single bone in your hands."