Chapter 8 - The Hound of Vengeance
Before Arthur or his mercenaries could react, a massive, muscular blur launched itself from the top of a six-foot stack of wooden pallets.
Buster.
The German Shepherd had somehow tracked our scent across the city, tearing through the industrial park like a streak of lightning. He hit the mercenary holding the gun like a runaway freight train.
The man shrieked as 90 pounds of pure muscle and teeth slammed into his chest, sending him crashing backward onto the gravel. The pistol flew out of his hand, skittering across the pavement.
The second mercenary whipped his submachine gun around to fire at the dog, but I didn't hesitate. I drew my sidearm in a fluid, practiced motion and squeezed the trigger twice.
Crack! Crack!
The rounds struck the asphalt inches from the second operative's boots, making him drop his weapon and throw his hands into the air with a terrified yell.
"Get away from her!" I roared, sprinting across the gravel.
I scooped Lily up into my arms, pulling her tight against my chest as she buried her face in my shoulder, sobbing with overwhelming relief.
"I've got you, baby. I've got you," I whispered, kissing her forehead.
I turned around to find Arthur Vance scrambling backward across the gravel, his expensive suit stained with dirt and mud, his face pale with mortal terror. He looked at the armed mercenaries on the ground, then up at me, realizing for the first time that his money, his lawyers, and his corporate power couldn't protect him from a father pushed past the brink.
"Mark... wait, let's be reasonable," Arthur stammered, holding up his hands. "We can talk about this! It was just business—"
"Business?" I walked slowly toward him, keeping one arm securely around Lily. "You put my five-year-old daughter in the freezing mud. You tried to steal everything I built. You sent killers into my home."
I threw my fist forward, connecting squarely with Arthur’s jaw. The sound of cartilage snapping echoed across the empty docks. Arthur collapsed onto the gravel, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Behind us, the wail of approaching sirens filled the morning air.
Federal marshals and local police cruisers converged on the industrial park from all directions, their red and blue lights flashing against the gray river water.
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Detective Miller stepped out of the lead cruiser, taking in the scene: Arthur unconscious in the dirt, two armed mercenaries pinned by a very proud German Shepherd, and me standing tall with my daughter safely in my arms.
"Looks like you're pretty good at clearing out trash, Captain," Miller said, a slight grin touching the corner of his mouth.
