Chapter 28
The twin-engine tactical helicopter roared low over the tree line, skimming the canopy at two hundred miles per hour. Ryan stood in the open bay door, the freezing wind whipping his black trench coat as the burning estate came into view beneath the moonlit clouds.
He saw the shattered glass of the master suite, the black smoke pouring from the roof, and the shadows of armed men moving through the upper corridors.
"We can't land on the lawn, Boss! Too much crossfire!" the pilot yelled over the headset.
"Hover over the balcony!" Ryan bellowed.
Before the skids had even stabilized ten feet above the third-floor terrace, Ryan stepped out into empty air.
He hit the flagstone balcony in a combat roll, absorbing the impact, and came up firing. His heavy assault carbine barked in thunderous, unsuppressed roars. Two mercenaries stationed on the terrace as perimeter lookouts were cut down before they could raise their rifles, their bodies crashing through the stone balustrade into the courtyard below.
Ryan kicked open the shattered French doors, entering the master suite like a force of biblical wrath.
The mercenaries surrounding the panic room door spun around in absolute shock. They had expected an empty house; they faced an apex predator. Ryan didn't stop moving. He fired on the move, driving high-velocity rounds through the torso of the closest gunman, closing the distance in three violent strides. He smashed the stock of his rifle into the second man’s jaw, spinning him into the path of a third contractor's firing line.
Victor and his elite strike team poured through the balcony doors behind him, unleashing a synchronized wave of suppressing fire. The bedroom erupted into a maelstrom of flying wood, blood, and spent brass.
Ryan discarded his empty rifle, drew his sidearm, and stepped directly into the breach of the panic room door. The mercenary squad leader, realizing his position was overrun, raised his weapon toward the interior. Ryan grabbed the man’s tactical vest, dragged him out into the hallway, slammed him face-first into the hardwood floor, and fired a single execution shot into the back of his skull.
Silence descended upon the ruined suite, broken only by the wail of distant sirens and the crackle of burning drywall.
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Ryan stood panting in the center of the carnage, his black suit shredded and soaked in blood, his knuckles bruised, his dark hair damp with sweat. He lowered his weapon, took a deep, shuddering breath, and turned toward the battered titanium door.
"Emily," Ryan called out, his deep voice cracking with raw, unadulterated emotion. "It’s me. It’s over."
