Chapter 9 - The Gravedigger’s Wrath
The private elevator bank on the third floor was deserted.
Victor Vance—a large, violent enforcer with a reputation for brutal waterfront shakedowns—stepped out of the elevator holding a heavy-caliber revolver. Behind him stood three rough-looking mercenaries carrying concealed weapons.
"Where is he?" Victor spat, his face flushed red with rage. "Where's Hale? He ruined my family! He took everything my brother owned!"
"Looking for me, Victor?"
A solitary figure stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.
Lucas Hale stood twenty feet away, his hands casually tucked into his suit pockets. He was completely alone. No guards, no weapons in sight.
Victor laughed, a harsh, ugly sound, raising his revolver directly at Lucas’s chest. "You think you own this city, Hale? You think you can mess with the Vance family and walk away? I'm going to put a bullet through your head right here!"
Lucas didn't flinch. He didn't take a step back. He simply looked at Victor with a cold, detached amusement.
"Victor," Lucas said softly. "Do you know why they call me the Gravedigger?"
Victor blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the total absence of fear in Lucas’s voice. "What?"
"They call me the Gravedigger," Lucas explained calmly, taking a slow step forward, "because I don't argue with dead men. I just dig the hole."
Before Victor could process the words, a sharp CLACK sounded from the ceiling security vents above them.
The heavy steel fire-containment doors at both ends of the hallway slammed down with devastating speed, locking Victor and his three men inside a windowless, concrete box.
At the same moment, the double doors at the side opened, and six of Lucas Hale’s elite security operators—dressed in tactical gear and carrying suppressed submachine guns—flooded the hallway, aiming their laser sights directly at the chests of Victor’s men.
Red laser dots danced across Victor’s forehead and heart.
Victor’s hands began to shake. The gun in his grip suddenly felt heavy, useless, and terrifyingly foolish.
"Drop the weapons," Teddy Voss’s voice echoed over the hallway speaker system. "Or we paint this hallway red."
The three mercenaries didn't hesitate. They tossed their guns onto the slick floor, raising their hands in immediate surrender.
Victor stood frozen, sweating profusely, staring into the cold gray eyes of Lucas Hale.
Lucas walked slowly over to Victor, calmly reached out, and took the revolver from his trembling hand. He removed the cylinder, dumped the bullets onto the floor, and dropped the empty gun onto the ground with a dull metallic clatter.
"Your brother was a thief who preyed on dying children," Lucas murmured, his voice cutting into Victor’s soul. "You are just an idiot who didn't know when to run."
Lucas looked at his tactical team. "Take them away. Ensure they are placed on a cargo vessel bound for international waters by sunset. If any of them ever step foot in Ashford Bay again... dig the holes."
May you like
"Yes, Mr. Hale," the leader of the tactical team responded instantly.
Lucas adjusted his cuffs, turned around, and stepped back into the elevator, returning to the surgical floor as if he had merely stepped out to answer a brief phone call.
