Chapter 9 - Resurrected Blood
Marcus did not flinch as the rain dripped from the brim of his coat onto the pristine white marble. His gaze swept over the mercenaries with the cold familiarity of a combat veteran. "Vance. Cross. Blackwood Security, isn't it? I know your commanding officer. If I pull this trigger, your company won't receive a settlement; they'll receive a court-martial from the Department of Defense. Disarm. Now."
The two mercenaries exchanged a single, panicked glance. Without a word, Vance unclipped his holster and placed his firearm on the console table. Cross followed suit, raising his hands in surrender.
"What are you doing?!" Claire shrieked, clawing at Vance’s arm. "I am paying you four times your standard rate! Shoot him!"
"Our contract doesn't cover fighting ghosts, Miss Claire," Vance muttered, stepping away from her and backing against the wall with his hands visible.
Marcus racked the slide of his shotgun, the mechanical clatter echoing through the vaulted ceiling. Then, he turned his steel-grey eyes to Julian. For a agonizing second, the two brothers stood ten feet apart, separated by twelve years of mourning, grief, and buried lies.
"You look terrible, little brother," Marcus said, the corner of his scarred lip twitching upward.
"You're dead," Julian choked out, the world spinning again. "We held a funeral. We buried an empty casket."
"Eleanor needed me in the dark," Marcus said softly, his eyes drifting to the elderly woman watching from the dining room archway. "Because she knew the wolves would come for the vault eventually. But we have a more urgent problem, Julian."
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Marcus kicked Claire’s designer duffel bag across the marble floor. It unzipped, spilling out not just bearer bonds, but a sophisticated electronic tracking beacon blinking amber.
"She wasn't working alone," Marcus said grimly. "Someone is tracking that van. And they just breached the tree line."
