Chapter 4 - THE DESPERATE HIT
I knew with absolute certainty that these ruthless men would not go down without a desperate, incredibly violent fight.
I strategically relocated to a highly secure penthouse suite in downtown London, absolutely refusing to return to the isolated, heavily guarded country estate.
I hired an elite team of former military mercenaries to heavily guard the private elevators and the main lobby around the clock.
But Arthur had deep, terrifying connections to some of the darkest, most violent criminal syndicates operating in Europe.
It was exactly 2:00 AM when the main electrical power to my entire luxurious floor suddenly cut out.
The massive penthouse was instantly plunged into absolute, suffocating, terrifying darkness.
I didn't panic for a single second; I silently slipped out of the silk sheets and grabbed the loaded Glock pistol Julian had patiently taught me how to use.
I heard the muffled, terrifying thud of a suppressed gunshot in the outer hallway, followed by a heavy, lifeless body hitting the marble floor.
They had somehow bypassed the lobby security grid and violently taken out my floor guard.
I quickly retreated into the master bathroom, hiding deep in the pitch-black shadows behind the massive marble shower wall.
The bedroom door clicked open with a terrifyingly soft, metallic squeak.
I held my breath completely, gripping the freezing cold steel of the pistol with both of my shaking hands.
A tall, heavily built figure dressed entirely in tactical black gear stepped silently into the bedroom, holding a silenced assault rifle.
He moved incredibly methodically, scanning the empty bed with glowing green night-vision goggles.
When he finally realized the bed was empty, he turned his head slowly toward the open bathroom door.
I didn't wait for him to step inside and find me cowering in the dark.
As he crossed the marble threshold, I swung a heavy, solid brass towel rack directly into his exposed temple with all my strength.
He loudly grunted in pain, stumbling sideways and dropping his expensive rifle to the floor.
I didn't hesitate for a microsecond; I kicked him sharply in the back of the knee, sending his massive frame crashing to the hard tiles.
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Before he could even reach down for the backup combat knife strapped to his thigh, I pressed the barrel of my pistol directly against his forehead.
“Give me one incredibly good reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger right now,” I growled, my finger heavily resting on the trigger.
