Chapter 6 - Return of the King
The armored vehicle slammed to a halt twenty feet from the greenhouse, its high-intensity LED high-beams cutting through the rain like twin searchlights.
The driver's door flew open, and Dominic Costello stepped out into the downpour. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket; his white shirt was already soaked through, clinging to the broad lines of his shoulders. In his right hand, he carried a short-barreled tactical shotgun; in his left, his Sig Sauer.
Behind him, four of his personal security team deployed from the rear doors, moving with the synchronized precision of military operators.
"Clear the garden," Dominic commanded, his voice carrying over the thunder without him even appearing to raise it. "Anyone who isn't Fiona Jenkins or my son dies where they stand."
Two of Victoria’s guards tried to raise their weapons from the tree line. Dominic didn't even pause. He fired two continuous rounds from the shotgun, the concussive blasts illuminating the garden in brief, white flashes. The two men crumpled into the wet grass before they could fire a single shot.
The remaining hunters broke and ran toward the house, completely outmatched by the raw, lethal efficiency of the syndicate boss's inner guard.
Dominic turned toward the greenhouse, his boots sinking into the mud as he strode toward the entrance. He kicked the door open, his eyes sweeping the darkness until they landed on Fiona.
She was standing near the planting bench, the iron spade still clutched in her right hand, her body trembling from the epinephrine rush, her face pale as a ghost.
Dominic dropped his weapons onto a wooden table and reached her in three long strides. He didn't look at the spade; he looked directly into her eyes.
"Where is he?"
Fiona pointed weakly toward the underside of the bench. "Under the sacks. He’s... he’s alive, Dominic. But his breathing is failing. The pillow... it was full of needles. Neurotoxin."
Dominic fell to his knees in the dirt, pulling away the burlap sacks with a tenderness that didn't belong to a man who had just executed two people on his lawn. He lifted Arthur into his arms, checking the boy’s pulse with two fingers against his neck.
"Arthur. Look at me, son."
The boy’s eyes fluttered open. "Daddy... Fiona saved me from the Sandman."
Dominic’s chest heaved once, a deep, ragged breath of relief that he immediately controlled. He stood up, cradling his son against his chest, and turned back to Fiona. He reached out with his free hand, catching her by the elbow just as her knees finally gave way. The epinephrine was wearing off.
"I’ve got you," Dominic said, his voice low and incredibly rough. "I’ve got both of you."
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He carried them both out into the storm, his men forming a defensive perimeter around them as they moved toward the idling SUV.
"Marco!" Dominic yelled over the wind. "Get the house medical team down to the secure basement level. If Dr. Reed is still alive, drag him down there by his teeth. And find my wife."
