Chapter 232: The Face of The Nightmare 2

Emily

The freezing rain soaks my gray cashmere sweater, pasting the expensive fabric to my shivering skin. My wet shoes squelch softly against the plush carpet as I move through the darkened, silent corridors of the first floor. The estate is completely locked down. The heavy steel security shutters block out the storm entirely, trapping the chaotic sounds of the invasion inside the walls.

I hold the Nightblade pistol in a tight, two-handed grip. Leo spent weeks drilling these exact tactical movements into my muscle memory. Keep the elbows tucked. Keep the muzzle pointed in the direction of your gaze. Breathe steadily. Step carefully to minimize sound.

My lower back throbs with a dull, heavy ache. The extra weight of the pregnancy forces me to adjust my balance with every step. I ignore the discomfort. I ignore the freezing chill setting into my fingers. Beatrice is safe in the medical bay. I must find Alistair.

I reach the top of the concrete stairwell leading down to the subterranean laboratory sector. The air here smells thickly of pulverized concrete and discharged ammunition. The emergency strobe lights paint the stairwell in alternating flashes of blinding red and pitch black.

I descend the stairs, keeping my back pressed firmly against the concrete wall.

The brutal, sickening sound of flesh colliding with flesh echoes up from the corridor below.

I reach the final landing and peer carefully around the corner.

The titanium security doors are completely blown off their hinges. Two wounded security guards lie behind a pile of shattered debris. In the center of the hallway, two men are locked in a vicious, desperate struggle on the tiled floor.

Alistair is pinned on his back.

The man sitting on top of him wears a bright yellow industrial raincoat. He wears a plastic clown mask.

The air in my lungs completely evaporates. The pistol trembles violently in my hands.

The nightmare from thirteen years ago is no longer confined to my sleep. He is a physical, terrifying reality, and he is sitting ten feet away from me. The smell of the wet raincoat triggers a massive wave of paralyzing terror. My mother screaming. The deafening gunshot. The blood pooling on the hardwood floor.

The man in the clown mask raises a massive, serrated combat knife high above his head. He aims the point directly at Alistair’s throat.

Alistair strains against the superior weight, his hands gripping the mercenary’s wrist, his muscles trembling with the sheer effort of keeping the blade away from his neck. He is losing ground. The knife descends inch by agonizing inch.

The paralyzing fear vanishes, replaced instantly by a cold, absolute, lethal clarity.

I will not let this monster take another person I love.

I step fully out from behind the concrete wall. I widen my stance, planting my wet shoes firmly on the debris-covered tiles. I raise the Nightblade pistol. I do not look at the terrifying clown mask. I do not look at the yellow raincoat. I focus entirely on the front sight post of the weapon, just as Leo taught me.

I align the sights directly on the thick, unprotected joint of the mercenary’s right shoulder.

I exhale slowly. I pull the trigger.

The suppressed shot lets out a sharp, mechanical crack. The heavy recoil travels up my arms, pushing my shoulders back.

The armor-piercing round strikes the mercenary exactly where I aimed. The bullet shatters the collarbone and tears through the muscle of his right shoulder. A burst of dark red blood sprays across the yellow raincoat.

The mercenary drops the combat knife. He lets out a deafening, guttural scream of absolute agony, clutching his ruined shoulder. He rolls off Alistair, thrashing wildly against the floor.

I keep the pistol raised. I do not lower the weapon. I walk slowly down the corridor, keeping the sights locked on the thrashing mercenary.

Alistair

The crushing weight disappears from my chest. The serrated knife clatters harmlessly onto the tiles, inches from my face.

I gasp for air, pushing myself up onto my elbows. The mercenary screams in pain beside me, gripping his shattered shoulder. Dark blood pools rapidly on the white floor tiles.

I look down the corridor.

Emily stands ten feet away. She holds the Nightblade pistol in a flawless, unwavering tactical stance. Her clothes are completely soaked from the rain. Her hair clings wetly to her pale cheeks. Her eyes are utterly devoid of fear. She looks like an absolute force of nature.

She shot the monster. She stepped into a warzone, pregnant and freezing, to save my life.

I scramble to my feet. The adrenaline surges back into my bloodstream. I step over the discarded combat knife and walk over to the wounded mercenary. He tries to push himself up with his uninjured arm.

I draw my heavy combat boot back and deliver a brutal, punishing kick directly to his ribs.

The mercenary collapses flat onto his back, coughing violently. The breath leaves him in a ragged, wheezing gasp. He has no fight left. The shattered collarbone renders his right arm entirely useless, and the sheer shock of the gunshot wound drains the strength from his massive frame.

I drop to one knee beside him. I grab the thick collar of the yellow raincoat and haul his upper body off the floor.

“You do not get to die today,” I snarl, my voice echoing loudly in the narrow hallway. “You do not get the mercy of a quick death.”

I reach out and grab the edge of the cracked, bloody clown mask. I rip the plastic violently away from his face and throw it across the hallway. The mask shatters into pieces against the far wall.

The face beneath the plastic is deeply weathered and lined with thick, jagged scars. His hair is cut in a strict military buzz, going gray at the temples. He glares up at me with eyes full of pure, venomous hatred.

“The Obsidian Triangle sent you for the Stellar Core,” I state, tightening my grip on his collar until the fabric cuts into his throat. “They sent you to execute my family. You failed.”

Jester spits a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the tiles. He forces a dark, ugly smile. “The Triangle will never stop. You cannot hide the energy signature. We will burn this entire city to the ground to take that stone back.”

“You are going to tell me exactly where your leadership is hiding,” I reply, my tone dropping to a lethal, quiet whisper. “You are going to give me the names of every single commander in your stateless zone. You will outline their operating bases, their supply lines, and their communication networks.”

“I will give you nothing,” he rasps, coughing again.

I lean closer, ensuring he can see the absolute certainty in my eyes. “I possess the resources of the most powerful corporate empire on the planet. I have underground facilities that do not exist on any municipal map. You will spend the next year strapped to a chair in a lightless room. You will beg me to let you talk. You will give me every single name, and then I am going to wipe your entire faction off the face of the earth.”

I drop him back onto the floor. His head bounces heavily against the tiles. He groans, clutching his bleeding shoulder, finally understanding the true magnitude of his situation. He is not a prisoner of war. He is the property of a man seeking vengeance.

I stand up and turn around.

Emily lowers the pistol. She engages the safety mechanism with a soft, practiced click. She stares at the scarred face of the mercenary. She stares at the ruined yellow raincoat. The ghost that haunted her childhood is finally defeated. He is just a broken, bleeding man lying on the floor.

I close the distance between us. I gently take the Nightblade from her trembling hands and place it on a nearby crate. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her wet, shivering body against my chest. She buries her face in my neck, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.

“It is over,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her wet hair. “He is never going to hurt anyone ever again. You stopped him.”

“We stopped him,” Emily murmurs against my skin.

I hold her tightly in the red-lit hallway. The storm continues to rage outside the thick concrete walls, but the greatest threat to our future is neutralized. The Wolfe Empire holds the Stellar Core. The clown-mask killer is in custody. We have the leverage to tear down the Obsidian Triangle piece by piece.

I look over Emily’s shoulder at the bleeding mercenary on the floor. The game of corporate politics is officially finished. The war has begun.