Chapter 8 - The Price of Betrayal
A rapid-fire burst from Dominic’s weapon dropped the third operative before he could recover his balance. The heavy thud of body armor hitting the floor echoed through the silence that immediately followed.
The room smelled of cordite, hot metal, and ozone.
“Status?” Dominic’s voice cut through the acrid smoke.
“I’m—I’m okay,” Emma breathed, pressing her back against the cool metal of the server rack, her ears ringing rhythmically. She lowered the pistol, her hands shaking uncontrollably now that the immediate danger had receded.
Dominic maneuvered his wheelchair past the fallen operatives, his tires crunching over shattered glass and brass shell casings. He paused beside the lead mercenary, reaching down to rip a secure tactical radio off the dead man’s chest vest.
He thumbed the transmission toggle.
“Richard,” Dominic spoke into the receiver, his voice calm, measured, and dripping with lethal venom.
A static hiss crackled over the small speaker, followed instantly by the sound of heavy breathing from the upper courtyard command tent.
“Dominic,” Richard Kane’s voice came back, strained and tight with adrenaline. “I see your security team is as incompetent as ever. Did you really think you could keep the shipping lines locked down forever while sitting paralyzed in that chair?”
“I didn't keep them locked down, Richard. I was just waiting for you to step out of the shadows long enough to sign your own death certificate,” Dominic replied smoothly. “Where are you? The north gate? Or are you hiding behind your mercenaries in the garden?”
“I’m wherever I need to be to watch this fortress burn,” Richard sneered over the radio. “The board has already voted to strip your voting shares under emergency incapacitation clauses. By nightfall, Kane Shipping belongs to me—and you’re just a footnote in a medical report.”
Dominic’s expression didn't change, but his eyes turned completely black with fury. “You made one fatal mistake, cousin.”
“And what’s that?”
“You forgot to check who was cleaning my room.”
May you like
Dominic clicked the radio off, smashing it under the metal footrest of his wheelchair. He turned back toward Emma, who was gingerly pushing herself up from the floor, clutching her bruised knee.
“We’re leaving,” Dominic said, his voice brooking no argument.
