Chapter 8 - The Price of Loyalty
Calder pulled back his free fist, ready to deliver the strike that would end Emmett's life right against the steel shutter.
"Calder, stop!"
A voice pierced the haze of violence.
Calder paused, his fist trembling with lethal momentum. He turned his head.
Mara stood by the edge of the bar, leaning heavily against the wood for support, her face pale beneath the red emergency glow. Beside her, Clara was watching him. The teenager's eyes were wide, filled with horror and tears.
"Don't do it," Mara pleaded softly, her voice carrying through the ruined room. "Not like this. Not in front of her."
Calder looked from Mara to Clara. He saw the terror in his daughter’s eyes. She wasn't terrified of Emmett; she was terrified of watching her father turn into the monster her mother had warned her about.
If he broke Emmett’s neck right here, in front of her, he would prove his father right. He would prove that the Wynn bloodline could produce nothing but butchery.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Calder lowered his fist.
He hurled Emmett violently to the floor. Emmett landed in a pathetic heap, coughing and retching on the shattered glass, gasping for air.
Calder walked over, kicked the discarded combat knife across the room, and stepped heavily onto Emmett’s right wrist, pinning it to the floor. A sharp crack sounded, and Emmett wailed in pain.
"You aren't dying tonight, Emmett," Calder said coldly, reaching down to grab his brother by the collar and hoisting him up. "Death is too easy for you. You're going to spend the rest of your miserable life in a federal penitentiary."
The service elevator chimed.
The doors slid open, and Frank Gallagher stepped out with a squad of heavily armed harbor security men, their weapons drawn and ready. Behind them stood two uniformed state troopers—not the corrupt city cops from central lockup, but high-ranking state investigators who had been tracking Emmett’s illicit offshore dealings for years.
"Mr. Wynn," Frank said, assessing the room with a quick, tactical sweep. "Perimeter is secure. The docks are entirely under your control. We intercepted Emmett's offshore couriers twenty minutes ago."
Calder shoved Emmett toward the state troopers. "Take him. Give the state attorney the ledger in my safe. It contains every transaction, every bribed precinct official, and every contract Emmett signed over the last six years."
Emmett struggled weakly as the troopers slapped heavy steel cuffs onto his wrists. He looked back at Calder, his eyes burning with venom and defeat. "You think you won, Calder? You brought a bastard street kid and a secretary into your house! You’re finished in this city!"
"Get him out of my sight," Calder said flatly.
The troopers dragged the screaming man out of the penthouse.
As the elevator doors closed, the red flare sputtered out, leaving the room illuminated only by the soft, warm amber glow of the kitchen track lights Frank had switched on.
Calder stood in the middle of his ruined home, his arm dripping blood onto the floor. The adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a crushing, exhausting weight. He staggered slightly, the wound on his arm throbbing violently.
Suddenly, a warm, steady pair of hands caught his uninjured shoulder.
May you like
Mara was there. Her touch was gentle, firm, anchoring him to the ground. "Sit down before you collapse, you stubborn idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking with unshed tears.
Calder looked down at her. For the first time in four years, the cold armor around his heart completely dissolved.
