Chapter 13 - The Wolf in the Fog
Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a tactical flashbang grenade—a souvenir from the security team he had dismissed three days ago for being too conspicuous. He pulled the pin, counted two beats, and tossed it around the corner into the living room.
A blinding white flash was accompanied by an ear-splitting bang that shook the foundations of the cabin.
Julian rounded the corner instantly. The two remaining gunmen were disoriented, clutching their ears and firing blindly into the ceiling. Julian fired two precise blasts from his shotgun, dropping both men to the floor before they could recover their bearings.
Stepping over the fallen bodies, Julian moved onto the patio, his boots crunching on broken glass. The freezing salt spray stung his open wound, keeping his senses razor-sharp.
Down at the dock, the engines of the second skiff sputtered to life. Someone was trying to flee.
Julian sprinted down the winding wooden stairs that cut through the cliffside, his boots thudding against the wet timber. Through the mist, he saw a solitary figure untying the mooring line of the black inflatable boat.
Julian raised his weapon, but a sudden impact from his blind spot struck him violently in the ribs, sending him crashing onto the wet dock. His shotgun slipped from his hands, plunging into the dark, churning water below.
Julian rolled onto his back just as a heavy combat boot came down toward his face. He caught the boot with both hands, twisting with all his might, bringing his attacker down onto the wooden boards with a wet thud.
They grappled in the freezing rain, rolling near the edge of the dock. His opponent was younger, faster, and armed with a tactical trench knife. The blade descended toward Julian’s throat, stopped only by Julian’s two-handed grip on the man's wrists.
""Who sent you?"" Julian snarled, his muscles trembling against the downward force of the steel blade.
The assassin grinned, blood coating his teeth. ""The Governor sends his regards, Mr. Ashford. No loose ends.""
Julian’s mind flashed: Governor Sterling. One of the names Marcus had mentioned in the cellar.
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Summoning a reserve of strength born of absolute desperation, Julian headbutted the assassin square in the nose. The sound of cartilage snapping was sickeningly distinct. The man shrieked, his grip faltering. Julian wrenched the knife from his hands, drove the hilt into the man’s temple, and rolled him over the edge into the freezing, turbulent ocean.
The dock fell silent, save for the rhythmic lap of waves against the pilings.
