"Give me that coat right now."
Briggs grabbed the lapels of a custom Italian wool overcoat. He ripped it off the shoulders of a screaming hedge fund manager.
The ten surviving security guards stumbled into the dark hotel lobby. Their tactical gear was a rigid shell of solid ice. Their skin was pale blue and flaking from severe frostbite. Every step they took left a trail of frozen blood on the expensive marble floors.
Malcolm had hit them with high pressure water cannons in negative eighty degree weather. They were dying of rapid hypothermia.
"Get your hands off him," Victor yelled. He stepped forward with false authority. "You work for me Briggs."
Briggs dropped the shivering hedge fund manager onto the frozen tile floor. He turned and stared at Victor.
The mercenary did not see a b
