Chapter 3 - The King Unchained
Two guards stepped into the room, followed by Evan Rourke. Evan was holding a silver-plated silenced pistol, a dark grin plastered across his face.
"Time's up, Damian," Evan said, checking his watch. "The assassin had a change of plans. He told us to do the dirty work ourselves and just send him the biometric confirmation. Guess nobody wants to get their hands dirty for a ghost."
The two mercenaries walked up to Damian, one of them pulling a heavy combat knife from his tactical vest to cut the restraint straps on Damian’s legs so they could lower his body after the execution.
"Any last words for the board?" Evan mocked, raising the silencer toward Damian’s forehead. "Any famous last wisdom from the great Damian Cross?"
Damian lowered his head. He let his shoulders slump, letting his body hang completely limp in the chains as if the neurotoxin had finally taken full effect.
"Only one," Damian whispered softly.
"What's that?" Evan sneered, taking two steps closer.
"Never bring a knife to a dead man's wake."
In a move so fast it defied human reaction, Damian’s eyes snapped open—clear, deadly, and entirely unburdened by the poison!
His body wasn't weak; the surge of adrenaline from discovering his daughter had burned the last of the neurotoxin out of his system minutes ago!
Damian kicked his legs outward with terrifying force! His heavy boots slammed into the chest of the guard holding the knife, sending the two-hundred-pound mercenary flying backward into Evan! Both men crashed into the concrete floor in a tangle of limbs!
Before the second guard could raise his assault rifle, Damian swung his heavy, chained wrists sideways! The thick iron link smashed directly into the guard's temple with a sickening crunch! The man dropped like a stone, his rifle clattering against the concrete!
"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!" Evan shrieked, scrambling backward on his hands and knees!
Damian caught the falling rifle with his bare feet, flipped it into the air, caught the handguard with his bound hands, and pulled the trigger with his pinky finger!
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!
Three silenced rounds caught the recovering guard in the chest, dropping him instantly!
Damian didn't pause. He brought the captured rifle up, jammed the barrel directly into the brass padlock securing his hand chains, and squeezed the trigger!
BANG!
The lock shattered! The heavy iron chains whipped free, sliding off the overhead beam and crashing to the floor!
Damian Cross stood fully upright—six-foot-three of pure, unadulterated vengeance. He stretched his bleeding wrists, picked up a tactical handgun from the fallen guard's holster, and turned his dark gaze toward Evan Rourke, who was cowering against the base of the wine crates.
"Damian—please!" Evan begged, his face white as chalk, pressing himself against the wall as Damian approached. "It was Claire! She planned it all! She promised me half the syndicate! I was just following her!"
Damian grabbed Evan by the throat, lifting the traitor off the floor with one hand, pressing him against the damp stone wall.
"Where is she?" Damian growled, his voice carrying the chill of the grave.
"S-she’s upstairs... in the VIP lounge... finalizing the transfer documents with her lawyers!" Evan wheezed, his eyes bulging as Damian’s grip tightened. "She thinks you're dead! Please, Damian... we were brothers once!"
"My brothers don't hurt children," Damian said quietly.
With a swift, brutal wrench of his arm, Damian snapped Evan’s neck. The traitor went limp, dropping onto the concrete like a discarded rag.
Silence returned to the basement.
Damian dropped the body, turned immediately toward the corner, and walked toward the wine crates. "Lily. It's safe now. Come out, baby."
The canvas tarp moved slowly. Lily peeked out, her brown eyes wide with awe and terror. She looked at the fallen guards, then up at Damian, who was holding out a hand—not a king of the underworld, but a father offering warmth to his child.
Lily didn't hesitate. She scrambled out from the crates and threw her small arms around Damian’s waist, burying her face into his blood-stained shirt.
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Damian dropped his weapon, dropped to both knees, and wrapped his massive arms around his daughter, holding her close against his chest while his shoulders shook with quiet, profound emotion.
"I’ve got you," Damian murmured, kissing her hair. "I’ve got you, Lily. Nobody will ever threaten you or your mother again."
