Chapter 7 - Bloodlines and Blackmail
The lock clicked back with a smooth, oiled whisper.
The heavy oak door swung open, and June Callaway stepped into the suite, carrying a bundle of fresh linen over her arm. Behind her stood Wesley, holding a canvas utility bag and a heavy steel wrench.
“Look at this,” June sneered, stepping into the bedroom and glancing around at the plush carpets and silk draperies. “Living like a queen on the master’s charity. Where’s the little bastard, mouse? Mr. Vance wants to have a word with her.”
Sadie stood by the edge of the wardrobe, her hands hidden behind the folds of her dress. “You sold out Julian Cain four years ago, didn't you, June?”
June stopped. A short, ugly laugh escaped her lips. “Julian was a fool. Thought he could play soldier and clean up Ashport. Mr. Vance pays three times what Ronan pays just to know who comes through that front gate. And now you’ve brought Julian’s brat right to our doorstep. That kid is worth ten million dollars on the open market.”
“Wesley,” June ordered, her voice hardening. “Check the bathroom. Find the kid. Vance’s van is waiting at the south service exit.”
Wesley stepped forward, raising the wrench. “Come on, mouse. Move aside before I break your pretty little jaw.”
He took one step toward the bed.
Sadie moved with explosive, blinding violence.
She didn't use the poker to swing; she thrust the pointed iron tip directly into Wesley’s solar plexus with all the momentum of her hips. The breath exploded from his lungs in a wet, ragged gasp. Before he could fall, Sadie stepped inside his reach, grabbed his right wrist with both hands, twisted his arm until the joint popped, and drove her heel down onto his kneecap.
The bone snapped with a sickening crack.
Wesley dropped to the carpet, screaming and clutching his ruined knee.
June shrieked, dropping the linens and clawing frantically inside her apron pocket for a small snub-nosed revolver.
Sadie didn't give her the chance. She closed the distance in two strides, grabbed June’s wrist with an iron grip, slammed the woman’s back against the mahogany wardrobe, and pressed the edge of the heavy iron poker across June’s windpipe.
“Drop it,” Sadie whispered, her eyes wide, dark, and utterly devoid of mercy. “Drop the gun or I will crush your larynx against this wood.”
The revolver slipped from June’s limp fingers, thudding softly onto the carpet.
“Who else?” Sadie demanded, pressing the poker harder until June’s lips turned blue. “Who opened the service gate?”
“M-Marsh...” June choked out, her heels drumming frantically against the floorboards. “Marsh cut the security cameras... Vance’s men are already in the courtyard... they’re coming for the old lady...!”
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A sudden burst of automatic gunfire shattered the silence of the ground floor.
The sound of shattering glass and heavy tactical boots echoed up the central marble staircase. The estate was under attack.
