Chapter 87: The Arrogant Heir
Torin Sterling shoved his way past the cluster of shivering brokers, planting his heavy boots firmly upon the cracked marble tile at the exact center of the grand foyer. The tactical shotgun hung across his chest from its nylon sling, the cold steel barrel resting against his sheepskin lapel like a badge of field command. For weeks he had choked on the bitter taste of his own insignificance, coughing blood into dirty snowdrifts while Rowan Mercer watched from an impenetrable throne of warm stone.
Now, with thirty armed men hanging on every breath drawn in the room, the familiar intoxicating warmth of entitlement flooded his veins.
He was not going to stand in his father shadow, nor would he let Montgomery or Caldwell claim credit for the assault that would
