Chapter 7 - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
Arthur Sterling dropped the leather duffel bag onto the desk. His hands were shaking, his pale face covered in a sheen of cold sweat under the firelight.
“Damian...” Sterling gasped, stumbling backward against the bookshelves. “How... how did you find me?”
“You used Blackwood Foundation funds to pay for the private charter flight that brought this trash to Aspen,” Damian said, gesturing with his gun toward the tattoo-necked mercenary. “You’ve been sloppy, Arthur. Ever since Eleanor caught you.”
The mercenary with the red star tattoo didn't flinch. His dark eyes remained fixed on Damian, his posture relaxed, his hand hovering inches from a tactical knife mounted on his chest.
“Your wife was a nosy bitch, Blackwood,” the mercenary sneered, his voice raspy and deep. “She was warned three times to close her eyes. She didn't listen.”
Damian’s finger tightened on the trigger. The urge to blow the man’s head off right there threatened to consume his sanity. But he forced his breathing to remain steady.
“Who ordered the hit at the gala?” Damian demanded. “Was it Arthur, or did someone higher up give the green light?”
Sterling fell to his knees, clutching his hands together in desperate plea. “Damian, listen to me! I had no choice! Vanguard isn't just a security firm! They’re backed by the Russian syndicate! If I didn't clean up Eleanor’s files, they threatened to kill my grandchildren!”
“So you tried to kill my four-year-old son instead?” Damian roared, the sound echoing off the high wooden ceiling. “You sent a sniper to shoot a child who couldn't even speak!”
“He saw Viktor’s face!” Sterling wept, pointing a trembling finger at the mercenary. “Viktor said the boy was a risk! I didn't want the child dead, Damian, I swear to God!”
“You're a coward, Arthur,” Damian spat. “A pathetic, greedy parasite.”
Suddenly, Viktor moved.
With blinding speed, the mercenary threw a heavy glass decanter straight at Damian’s head while drawing his sidearm.
Damian ducked. The decanter shattered against the wall behind him.
BANG! BANG!
Viktor fired two shots, tearing through the drywall as Damian rolled behind a heavy leather armchair.
Damian returned fire—Thwip! Thwip!—the suppressed rounds chewing into the wooden desk.
Sterling shrieked, crawling under the desk with his hands over his ears.
Viktor didn't stay to fight. He knew Damian’s tactical team was closing in from the hallway. He kicked open the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the second-floor balcony, diving headfirst into the swirling blizzard outside.
“Julian!” Damian barked into his shoulder comms as he leaped over the chair. “Target is fleeing south toward the tree line! He’s on foot!”
Damian ran out onto the snow-covered balcony.
Below him, Viktor was already sliding down the snowbank, disappearing into the whiteout of the forest.
May you like
Damian didn't hesitate. He vaulted over the wooden railing, dropping fifteen feet into the deep snowdrift below.
The cold air hit his face like a slap. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp sting in his ankle, and sprinted into the woods after the man who had murdered his wife and terrorized his son.
