Chapter 13
1095 Words
Chapter 13
DAMIEN
The leather seat of my Bentley felt like ice against my back as Julian pulled away from the Snow estate. The bullet wound in my left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, but I'd had worse. Much worse.
What bothered me wasn't the pain—it was the instinct that had made me throw myself in front of Marcus Holloway without thinking.
My "spidey sense," as I'd come to call it, had never steered me wrong. It was an inherited gift, passed down through generations of Carter men who'd served as protectors, advisors, and occasionally executioners for powerful families. The ability to read situations, to sense danger, to know when someone was worth saving or when they needed to die.
Tonight, that instinct had screamed at me to protect Holloway. But I didn't understand why.
"Sir?" Julian's voice cut through my brooding. He was watching me in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes sharp with concern. "Should I take you to Dr. Reeves?"
"No," I said, rolling my shoulder to test the damage. "It's a through-and-through. I can handle it myself."
Julian nodded without question. He'd been my assistant for five years, recruited from military intelligence after his discharge, and he'd learned not to argue when it came to my unusual healing capabilities. Or my unusual anything, for that matter.
"Any word on Alex Snow?" I asked, though I already knew the answer from his expression.
"The trail's gone completely cold," Julian admitted. "It's like he vanished into thin air after leaving that hospital. No credit card usage, no phone activity, no security camera sightings. Either he's dead, or someone with serious resources is hiding him."
I stared out at the city lights blurring past. Three weeks of searching, and we had nothing. No leads, no witnesses, no trace of the man I'd spent fifteen years planning to kill.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
"Keep searching," I ordered. "Expand the parameters. Check private airfields, offshore accounts, safe houses. Someone that wealthy doesn't just disappear without leaving breadcrumbs."
"Already on it, sir. Though I have to ask..." Julian hesitated. "Are we still operating under the assumption that he's alive? Because if he's been murdered, we need to shift our approach entirely."
The question hung in the air like a loaded weapon. If Alex Snow was dead—truly dead—then fifteen years of careful planning had been for nothing. Fifteen years of positioning myself close to his family, earning their trust, learning their secrets, all so I could look him in the eyes when I finally took his life.
Just like his parents had taken mine.
"He's alive," I said with more certainty than I felt. "My instinct would tell me if he wasn't."
Julian accepted this without question. He'd seen my instincts in action too many times to doubt them.
We pulled through the gates of my estate—a sprawling mansion in the hills overlooking the city. I'd bought it with money earned through fifteen years of "consulting" work, though my clients would have been disturbed to learn exactly what kind of consulting I provided.
Information brokering. Corporate espionage. Occasionally, when the price was right and the target deserved it, elimination services.
All in service of building the resources I'd need for my ultimate goal: destroying the Snow family.
"Sir," Julian said as we pulled up to the main entrance, "there's something else you should know. The attack tonight—I've been monitoring police communications. They're calling it a terrorist incident, but the targeting was too precise."
"Explain."
"Eight attackers, all ex-military contractors. They had detailed floor plans of the estate, guest lists, and what looked like specific target priorities." Julian turned in his seat to face me directly. "Marcus Holloway was their primary objective."
That made no sense. Holloway was a minor player in international investing, wealthy but not politically significant. Why would a professional kill team want him dead badly enough to assault a party full of witnesses?
Unless...
"Any connection between Holloway and the Yggdrasil Group?" I asked.
Julian's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's an interesting question. Why would you—"
"Just check it."
"I'll have an answer within the hour."
Inside the mansion, I dismissed Julian for the evening and made my way to my private study. The room was decorated in dark wood and leather, but the real treasures were hidden behind a false wall: files, photographs, and evidence I'd been collecting for fifteen years.
But first, I needed to deal with the bullet wound.
I stripped off my ruined shirt and examined the damage in my bathroom mirror. The bullet had entered just below my left shoulder blade and exited through the front, missing anything vital by inches. Blood had already begun to clot around both wounds.
Using surgical tools I kept for exactly this purpose, I cleaned and disinfected both the entry and exit wounds. The pain was sharp but manageable—I'd been through this routine too many times to count.
Then I sat back and waited.
The healing process was always the same. First, the bleeding would stop completely. Then the edges of the wound would begin to pull together, cellular regeneration accelerating at an impossible rate. Within an hour, there would be nothing but pink scar tissue. By morning, even that would be gone.
Another family gift, though this one had come with a price. Enhanced healing, enhanced reflexes, enhanced intuition—all passed down through bloodlines that could be traced back centuries to families who'd served kings and emperors as their hidden hands.
The Carters had always been protectors and avengers. We lived in the shadows, cleaned up messes, settled debts that couldn't be resolved through conventional means.
Until the Snows destroyed us.
While my body repaired itself, I poured three fingers of bourbon and walked to the window overlooking the city. Somewhere down there, Alex Snow was either dead or hiding. Either way, my fifteen-year plan was in jeopardy.
I'd been so close. So damned close.
I'd infiltrated his family's social circle, gained Lily's trust, positioned myself as their tech consultant so I could monitor their communications and financial dealings. I'd learned their secrets, their weaknesses, their fears.
I knew that Lily Snow was embezzling money through shell companies. I knew that her father had ties to organized crime. I knew that their marriage was more business arrangement than love story, a merger of powerful families designed to consolidate control over several industries.
But most importantly, I'd learned that Alex Snow had no idea about any of it.
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