Chapter 12 - Fire on the Hearth
Falcon didn't hesitate for a fraction of a heartbeat. With the zip-tie severed, he grabbed the oak chair by its arms, vaulted upward, and smashed the heavy wood frame into the face of the bodyguard standing to his left. The man went down with a shattered jaw, his assault rifle skittering across the floorboards.
The second guard swung his sidearm, but Falcon grabbed the barrel, wrenching the man's wrist backward until the bone snapped through the skin. He drove his elbow into the man’s throat, catching the dropped pistol in mid-air.
Two shots rang out in the confined space of the cabin, dropping both bodyguards dead onto the floor.
Falcon spun to face Lucian, but the older man had already drawn a small, high-caliber derringer from his coat sleeve. Lucian fired point-blank.
The heavy lead slug tore through Falcon’s chest, inches above his heart. The impact knocked him backward against the stone fireplace, his breath exploding from his lungs in a crimson spray.
Lucian scrambled toward the front door, shouting for the remaining drivers outside. "Kill him! Bring the hounds!"
Falcon forced his legs to hold his weight, clinging to the edge of the granite mantelpiece. Blood pumped hot and steady down his chest, soaking through his woolen shirt. He had minutes before his lungs collapsed.
Grabbing the guard's dropped assault rifle, Falcon staggered out onto the porch. The snow was falling heavily now, large white flakes drifting lazily through the frozen air. Lucian was diving into the passenger seat of the armored SUV, the engine roaring as the driver threw it into reverse.
Falcon raised the rifle. He didn't fire at the bulletproof glass of the cabin. Instead, he fired a steady, armor-piercing burst into the vehicle's exposed front tire and the steering column beneath the wheel well. The tire shredded with an explosive pop, the SUV sliding violently sideways off the icy driveway and wedging itself against a massive granite boulder.
The driver kicked open his door, firing wildly into the falling snow, but Falcon put three rounds through the door frame, dropping him instantly.
Silence fell over the clearing, save for the ticking of the dying SUV engine and the soft hiss of snow hitting the burning porch of the cabin.
Falcon limped toward the wrecked vehicle, pulling the driver's door open. Lucian sat trapped inside, his legs pinned beneath the crushed dashboard, his face pale as chalk.
"Jax..." Lucian stammered, raising his trembling hands. "Take the money. Ten million. In an offshore account. You can take the girl and disappear to South America. No one will ever follow."
Falcon leaned into the car, his blood dripping onto Lucian’s designer coat. His dark eyes held no hatred, no anger—only the absolute, terrifying finality of a predator finishing an execution.
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"A vow was made, Lucian," Falcon whispered. "And you stepped into the garden."
He pulled the trigger.
