Chapter 6 - THE RED STAR
Two days later. Aspen, Colorado.
A blinding blizzard battered the pine trees surrounding the secluded, three-story timber mansion owned by Arthur Sterling.
The wind howled like a dying wolf, carrying heavy sheets of white snow that obliterated visibility down to a few yards.
A quarter-mile down the mountain road, a dark armored SUV sat idling in the shadows of the snow-covered forest.
Inside, the heater hummed softly.
Damian sat in the front passenger seat, checking the magazine of a sleek black pistol before sliding it into his shoulder holster.
In the back seat, Mara sat with Eli. She wore a heavy black thermal parka over her sling, her right arm wrapped securely around the boy. Eli was wearing a thick red wool hat, holding a tablet computer where he was drawing colorful houses.
“Daddy,” Eli said softly, looking up from his screen. “Are we going to the big house?”
Damian turned around in his seat, his expression softening as he looked at his son.
“Yes, Eli,” Damian said gently. “Daddy has to talk to Uncle Arthur about some business.”
“Is the bad man there?” Eli asked, his small voice echoing in the quiet car.
Mara squeezed Eli’s hand reassuringly. “No, sweet boy. Your dad and Julian are going to make sure the bad man never comes near you again.”
Eli looked at Mara, then at Damian. “Don't get hurt, Daddy. Mara got hurt.”
Damian reached back and touched his son’s cheek. “I promise you, Eli. I’ll be back before you finish your drawing.”
Damian looked at Mara. Their eyes met in the dim interior light of the vehicle. Over the past forty-eight hours, an unspoken bond had formed between them—born of shared grief, protective fury, and a mutual determination to destroy the people who had shattered their lives.
“Julian stays here with two men to guard the vehicle,” Damian instructed. “If anything goes wrong, take the secondary snowmobile route down the valley.”
“Be careful, Damian,” Mara whispered, her hand briefly touching his forearm. “Sterling knows he’s cornered. He’ll have Vanguard mercs inside that house.”
“I’m counting on it,” Damian said coldly.
He stepped out into the freezing storm, pulling his black collar up against the wind. Joined by four heavily armed tactical operators from his private security detail, Damian moved silently through the deep snow toward the perimeter of Sterling’s compound.
The estate was heavily guarded. High-circuit thermal cameras swept the fence line, and two guards in tactical winter gear paced the front terrace.
Damian didn't bother with stealth.
He pulled a remote detonator from his pocket and pressed the red button.
A hundred yards away at the estate’s primary power junction, a mini-charge exploded with a dull, muffled BOOM!
Instantly, every light in the Sterling compound vanished. The thermal cameras went dark. The exterior floodlights died, plunging the house into the grey, howling twilight of the blizzard.
“Go!” Damian ordered.
His team breached the side entrance, kicking through the heavy oak door before the guards inside could even react.
Suppressed gunshots echoed softly through the dark hallways—Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Damian stepped through the shattered doorway, walking calmly past two downed Vanguard mercenaries.
He moved up the grand spiral staircase toward the master library on the third floor.
He kicked the library doors open.
Inside, sitting behind a massive cherry-wood desk lit only by the orange glow of a roaring stone fireplace, sat Arthur Sterling.
The seventy-year-old CFO was frantically stuffing physical ledger books and passports into a heavy leather duffel bag. Standing beside him was a tall, heavily muscled man wearing a black tactical vest.
On the right side of the man’s neck, visible above his collar, was a dark, jagged tattoo: a red five-pointed star.
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Damian stepped into the room, raising his gun until the sights were locked directly between the mercenary’s eyes.
“Arthur,” Damian said, his voice as cold as the blizzard outside. “You forgot your retirement party.”
