The attack
1133 Words
I was at the dining table with Sloane and the family lawyer, eating dinner while listening to the details of my father’s will.
A farm on the outskirts of London.
A cruise ship.
And… a marriage contract.
“A marriage contract?” I asked, staring at the lawyer like he’d just grown two heads. “What the hell is that for?”
“Before your father died,” he began, “he signed an agreement with Mr. Victor Langford. Upon your ascension as CEO, you were to marry his daughter.”
I dropped my fork.
“Marry his daughter?” I said, trying not to raise my voice but failing. “An arranged marriage? What is this, the eighteenth century?”
The lawyer didn’t flinch. He just smiled.
“Your father was a smart man. Even if he made a few… controversial decisions, this wasn’t one of them. I believe you should at least consider it.”
Sloane’s tone cut the air like a knife.
“He’s old enough to decide for himself. You can’t force someone to marry because of some outdated contract.”
The lawyer sighed, shaking his head.
“I was one of your father’s oldest friends. Every move he made—especially ones involving this company—was about legacy and security. This marriage isn’t about love. It’s about power. Victor Langford is one of the strongest figures in London’s underworld. A union between your families would be untouchable. If people think the Langfords are behind you, no one would risk making a move.”
It made sense. And I hated that it did.
“I’ll give you time,” the lawyer added, sliding a pen and document toward me. “I’ll return tomorrow for your decision. In the meantime, please sign here to confirm receipt of the will.”
Before I could touch the pen, one of the guards stormed into the room, panic written all over his face.
“Sir—there’s been an attack. One of our major shipments. Just landed three hours ago.”
Sloane was already out of her chair. “What?”
“I believe it’s Vanguard,” he said quickly.
“Of course it is,” she muttered. “No one else would dare.”
“Who the hell is Vanguard?” I asked.
Sloane turned to me. “They’re a rival laundering group. Smaller, but ambitious. They’ve been waiting for a slip-up. Seven years ago, they tried your father. He buried them. They haven’t moved since… until now. With your father gone, the Virelli twins must think it’s open season.”
The lawyer chimed in, tone grim.
“This isn’t just about a shipment. If you don’t respond to this, you’ll lose clients. People will think you’re weak. The sharks will circle.”
I stood. “You’ll get my answer tomorrow,” I told the lawyer. “Right now, I’ve got more important things to handle.” I turned to Sloane. “You’re with me.”
I rushed to my room, opened my safe, and pulled out the Glock. My father and I spent years at the range, but I’d never aimed a gun at another person. Never needed to.
That changed tonight.
I loaded a couple of mags, c****d the slide, and tucked the weapon into the holster inside my jacket.
Sloane was waiting outside my door, already geared up.
“You’re not wearing a vest?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.
“No,” I said. Not because I was trying to be brave—I just didn’t want anything weighing me down. I thought about calling her out for the whole sir thing—we were the same damn age—but there wasn’t time.
We jumped into the car. I took the backseat while she drove. Six more vehicles flanked us. Two in front. Four behind.
By the time we neared the port, I could hear it.
Gunfire.
Loud. Sharp. Chaotic.
When we arrived, the scene was hell. Our men were pinned, and Vanguard’s troops were advancing like this was their turf. Sloane locked the doors from the outside before I could react.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t let anything happen to you,” she said from outside, her voice muffled but firm.
I pounded on the glass, furious.
She stepped into the chaos without hesitation. Moved like a damn machine. One shot. Two. Three. Six men down in under a minute. Efficient. Cold. Ruthless.
No wonder my father trusted her.
Smart. Strong. My kind of woman.
Then I saw him.
One of Vanguard’s bastards creeping up on her blind spot.
I slammed my fist on the window, yelling—but she couldn’t hear me. The gunfire drowned everything out.
Then I spotted the keys in the ignition.
Child lock only worked from the inside.
I twisted the key, slammed the door open, and ran out.
My shot rang out just in time. The bullet ripped through the guy’s skull. Blood sprayed the dock.
Sloane spun around, eyes wide.
I had just saved her.
Before she could say anything, I tackled her to the ground.
A sniper’s bullet sliced through the space her head had just occupied.
We rolled. I got up first. Raised my Glock and took the shot.
Perfect.
Clean through the bastard’s forehead.
I looked down at her. “That’s twice I’ve saved your life. Don’t ever pull that lock trick on me again.”
She didn’t speak. Just stared.
Like she was seeing me for the first time.
That moment of disbelief? It only lasted a second—but I saw it.
Respect. And something else, buried deeper.
Eventually, the gunfire slowed.
Blackthorn had won. But we didn’t walk away untouched.
Sloane gave me the damage report.
“Millions in goods. Burnt, destroyed, stolen. We need to make them bleed.”
“Oh, they will,” I said, tightening my grip on the gun.
“Sir, we captured three of Vanguard’s men,” one of my enforcers reported.
“Kill them all,” I said instantly.
Johnny arrived right then. Perfect timing.
“Maybe leave one alive. Send a message,” he said casually.
“Where the hell have you been?” Sloane snapped.
“Birmingham. Soon as I heard, I hit the road,” he explained.
I waved him off.
“Kill them all. That’s enough of a message.”
Three shots rang out.
Three bodies hit the floor.
No mercy. No loose ends.
“Johnny, handle the cleanup,” Sloane said.
“Aye aye, ma’am,” he replied with that same reckless grin.
She and I got back in the car.
Drove off into the night.
This wasn’t over.
This wasn’t going to end clean.
This was war.
- Writer
