Chapter 8 - The Iron Bridge
The rain fell in sheets, hissing against the hot metal of the wrecked prison transport as Julian Voss cocked the hammer of his silenced pistol. The metal click sounded like a thunderclap across the river gorge.
“Vance, take out the sniper in the western bridge tower,” I whispered into the tactical comms, keeping my rifle leveled squarely at Julian’s chest through the scope. “Eli, sweep the eastern flank. Deacon, you’re with me up the center line. Let’s ruin family night.”
“With pleasure, Captain,” Vance muttered softly.
A fraction of a second later, a dull, suppressed thump echoed from the shadows of the old wooden control tower fifty yards to our left. The high-value sniper positioned by Julian tumbled silently over the railing, plunging into the dark, churning waters of the river far below.
Julian spun around instantly, his military instincts kicking in with terrifying speed. He shoved Cameron violently aside and raised his rifle toward the tree line.
“Ambush! Spread out! Find them!” Julian roared to his remaining three enforcers.
Before his men could raise their weapons, Eli’s carbine barked twice from the eastern tree line. Two of Julian’s mercenaries dropped instantly, their legs swept out by precision rounds that shattered their kneecaps before they even hit the wet asphalt.
“Federal intervention! Drop your weapons!” I bellowed, stepping out from the dense pine tree line onto the concrete approach of the bridge, my rifle raised at a low-ready position.
Julian Voss didn't flinch. Instead, a twisted, psychotic grin spread across his rain-streaked face. He grabbed Richard Voss by the hair, yanking the billionaire to his feet and pressing a heavy combat knife directly against his throat.
“Go ahead, Dean! Shoot!” Julian screamed over the roar of the rain and wind. “You want to save your wife? You want to play the hero? You’ll have to blow a hole straight through your billionaire nemesis to get to me!”
Richard Voss choked out a pathetic, garbled plea for mercy, his eyes wide with absolute terror as the razor-sharp edge of the blade broke his skin, drawing a thin crimson line down his neck.
“Blake! Don’t let him kill me! I’ll give you everything! All my offshore accounts! Everything!” Richard wailed, his legs buckling beneath him.
“You don’t have anything left to give, Richard,” I said coldly, walking slowly onto the bridge, keeping my boots planted firmly on the metal grating. “Your money is frozen. Your son is going to federal prison for the rest of his natural life. And your brother is standing over a grave he dug for himself twenty years ago.”
“You talk too much, soldier,” Julian sneered.
With a sudden, savage yank, Julian sliced his knife across Richard’s throat, letting out a sickening gurgle as the billionaire collapsed onto the wet iron grating, drowning in his own blood.
Cameron screamed—a high-pitched, primal shriek of pure horror—scrambling backward away from his dying father.
Before Julian could pivot his weapon toward me, Deacon fired a single, calculated round from the shadows. The bullet struck Julian’s rifle barrel, shattering the steel and tearing the weapon right out of his hands with a shower of orange sparks.
Julian stumbled back against the bridge railing, cursing furiously as he reached for his secondary sidearm.
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I didn’t wait. I closed the remaining thirty feet in a furious sprint, leaping over the body of Richard Voss, and drove my shoulder straight into Julian’s chest.
We slammed hard against the steel railing of the bridge, the metal groaning beneath our combined weight as we tumbled over the edge, catching ourselves precariously on the narrow external maintenance catwalk hanging thirty feet above the roaring river.
