Chapter 4 - Ghost Protocol
Marcus did not drop the file. His body remained perfectly still, calculating the shooter’s distance, trigger discipline, and posture. The man was a trained contractor—not the hired bouncers inside the ballroom.
“You’re a long way from home, mercenary,” Marcus said quietly, shielding Lily behind his broad shoulder.
“Contracts don’t care about geography,” the operative replied flatly. “The Sterling family pays clean and fast. Slide the folder across the pavement, and you walk away with the girl. Victoria only needs the paperwork.”
Marcus knew better. Men like this left no loose ends, especially when the target was a former elite military commander whose daughter was the sole legitimate heir to the Sterling fortune.
“Then you should have asked for double,” Marcus replied.
In a fraction of a second, Marcus hurled his heavy gold wristwatch straight at the operative’s optics. The contractor blinked, instinctively flinching as the heavy metal struck his tactical goggles. It was all the window Marcus needed.
Marcus closed the gap in three explosive strides. He deflected the raised barrel upward just as a suppressed round hissed into the empty air, shattering the tree branch above. Marcus brought a devastating palm strike directly into the contractor’s throat, followed by a sweeping knee strike to his midsection.
The operative collapsed onto the wet tarmac, gasping for breath. Marcus swiftly disarmed the weapon, ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber into the weeds, and grabbed the operative’s encrypted radio.
A female voice crackled over the speaker with frantic venom: “Vance must not leave the perimeter with the forensic audit. Burn the vehicle if you have to!”
May you like
Marcus pressed the talk button. “Too late, Victoria,” he said coldly into the radio, before crushing the handset beneath his boot.
He turned toward the tree line, where the low rumble of a familiar engine emerged from the mist.
