Chapter 9 - The Battle at the Mill
Victor Vane eyed Mercer suspiciously. He knew Mercer was an elite hand-to-hand combatant, but he also knew Mercer was heavily injured, bleeding beneath his vest, and stripped of his primary firearm.
Vane raised his hand, gesturing for his mercenaries to hold their positions. He unscrewed the silver handle of his walking cane with a sharp twist, drawing a twenty-inch narrow, razor-sharp steel rapier blade hidden inside the wooden shaft.
"You think you’re the only one who knows how to kill with his hands, Mercer?" Vane said, stepping into the circle of light, his blade glinting under the halogen bulb. "I built this empire on blood."
Vane lunged forward with terrifying speed for a man his age, the thin blade thrusting straight toward Mercer’s throat.
Mercer side-stepped the thrust, but his injured ribs betrayed him—a sharp spike of agony slowed his movement, and the tip of the rapier sliced a long, shallow gash across his shoulder.
Vane spun, slashing back in a wide arc. Mercer blocked the strike with his forearm bracer, the metal clashing violently against steel, sending sparks flying into the dark air.
Up in the shadows of the mill’s secondary catwalk, three hundred feet above the floor, Alara Harper sat crouched behind a rusted steel beam.
She held Mercer’s heavy tactical sniper rifle, mounted on a bipod, her eye pressed against the night-vision scope.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her hands were rock steady. Her nursing training—the rigorous precision required for insertion of IVs and delicate surgical assistance—translated seamlessly into holding her breath at the peak of exhalation.
She wasn't targeting Vane. She was watching the twelve mercenaries below.
Down on the floor, Vane drove his sword forward again, the point piercing Mercer’s tactical vest and biting deep into his side—the exact spot of his previous gunshot wound.
Mercer grunted, blood spraying from his mouth, but instead of backing away, he stepped into the blade, pinning Vane's arm against his body.
"Got you," Mercer wheezed.
With his free hand, Mercer grabbed Vane’s throat, driving him backward with explosive force, slamming the syndicate boss against the side of the lead SUV.
"FIRE!" Vane screamed to his men, abandoning his pride. "KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!"
The lead mercenary raised his submachine gun to open fire on Mercer.
BANG.
High up on the catwalk, Alara squeezed the trigger.
The heavy fifty-caliber round tore through the roof rafters, striking the lead mercenary square in the chest, blasting him backward ten feet into the dirt.
Panic erupted among the syndicate soldiers.
"SNIPER ON THE CATWALK!" someone screamed.
Before they could adjust their aim upward, Mercer capitalized on the chaos. He stripped the sword from Vane’s hand, snapped the blade over his knee, and drove his elbow violently into Vane’s jaw, knocking the older man to the concrete floor.
Mercer snatched his pistol off the ground, dropping into a low firing stance.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Working in deadly synchronization—Alara providing heavy sniper cover from above, Mercer executing surgical close-quarters shots from below—they systematically dismantled the syndicate force.
Mercer moved like a force of nature, utilizing the SUVs as mobile cover, firing through glass, sweeping legs, and clearing the floor with cold, military perfection. Alara picked off every mercenary who tried to flank him or aim toward the upper structure.
Within ninety terrifying seconds, the heavy gunfire died down.
The mill fell into a heavy, smoke-filled silence, broken only by the smell of spent gunpowder and the drip of leaking radiator fluid.
All twelve mercenaries lay incapacitated or dead across the floor.
Victor Vane was crawling frantically toward the open doorway, his face covered in blood, his breathing ragged.
Mercer walked up behind him, his boots thudding heavy on the concrete. He placed his boot firmly on Vane’s back, pinning the syndicate boss to the floor.
Mercer raised his pistol, aiming it directly at the back of Vane’s head.
"Wait!" Vane choked out, clawing at the dirt. "Mercer... please! Money! Millions! I’ll give you the entire syndicate! Just let me live!"
Mercer looked up toward the high catwalk. Through the haze of gunsmoke, he saw Alara lowering the sniper rifle, looking down at him.
He looked back down at the monster who had murdered his sister and tried to destroy his family.
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"This is for Elena," Mercer whispered.
BANG.
