Chapter 6 - Blood on the Runway
The cabin door hissed open, and a rush of freezing, rain-swept wind rushed inside, carrying the smell of wet asphalt and gunsmoke. Hamilton stepped down the metal stairs first, his black shirt snapping in the gale, his expression an abyss of cold fury. Marcus and Viktor flanked him instantly, their weapons drawn and ready.
Waiting fifty yards away were three black SUVs, their doors flung open. Out stepped Vane, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear. Vane offered a sickeningly familiar, arrogant smile, holding an assault rifle casually across his chest.
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“Well, well, Hamilton,” Vane’s voice boomed over the wind. “I expected you to fly straight into a cage, but bringing a sleeping beauty to her own funeral? That’s cold, even for you.”
Hamilton didn't blink. He walked slowly forward, closing the distance between them with terrifying calm. “You always were impatient, Vane. You couldn't even wait for the plane to stop before showing your true colors.”
