Ninety-nine doctors told me I would never walk again, and after eight years trapped in a wheelchair, I finally believed them.

Marcus didn't shoot at Victor. He shot the massive overhead crane hook hanging forty feet above the catwalk.

BANG! BANG!

The heavy iron cable, rusted from decades of salty air, snapped with a deafening crack like a cannon shot. The ten-ton steel crane block plummeted downward, crashing straight through the wooden catwalk directly between Victor and Audrey.

The catwalk collapsed with a terrifying screech of tearing metal.

Audrey screamed as she was thrown backward against the concrete wall, dropping the detonator. Victor lost his footing, tumbling over the broken railing and crashing twenty feet down onto a massive stack of padded canvas shipping sails, his gun flying out of his hand and clattering across the concrete floor.

Dr. Reeves shrieked like a panicked animal, dropping his stainless steel briefcase, turning around, and sprinting frantically out the rear fire exit.

"Noah! Get your mother!" I roared.

Noah sprinted out from behind the shipping crates, scrambling up the damaged iron access ladder to the cat-walk where Elena was lying bound and gagged.

The digital timer on the support pillars kept ticking down relentlessly: 01:25... 01:24... 01:23...

A sudden burst of fire erupted on the far north wall as the first thermite charge ignited, spraying blinding white sparks and melting the structural steel beams like butter. The temperature in the warehouse spiked instantly.

Down on the floor, Victor groaned, pushing himself up from the canvas sails, his face covered in blood and dust. He saw his pistol lying ten feet away on the concrete floor. He began crawling toward it, his eyes wild with lethal intent.

Marcus raised his weapon to finish Victor, but two hired mercenaries who had been guarding the rear exit burst through the smoke, opening fire on Marcus with automatic shotguns.

Marcus was forced to dive behind a heavy wooden crate, pinned down in an intense crossfire as shotgun shells tore the wood to splinters.

Victor reached the gun. His fingers wrapped around the grip. He turned his head, grinning maniacally through his blood-stained teeth, pointing the barrel straight at Marcus's exposed flank.

"Marcus, look out!" I yelled.

There was no time. Marcus couldn't move without stepping into the shotgun spray. I was lying thirty feet away on the cold concrete floor. My legs felt like they were encased in lead, burning with an agonizing, unbearable fire as my nervous system fought against eight years of chemical paralysis.

Eight years.

Eight years of sitting in the dark. Eight years of letting monsters steal my life, my name, my dignity.

NOT AGAIN.

With a primal, earth-shattering roar that tore from the deepest cavern of my soul, I slammed my palms against the concrete floor.

I pushed up.

My right leg buckled, the knee shaking violently under my weight. Pain exploded behind my eyes like a blinding flashbang. I screamed through my clenched teeth, forcing my left leg forward, planting my boot firmly against the wet concrete.

I stood up.

I was shaking, swaying like a oak tree in a hurricane, my body trembling with the massive exertion of dead muscle waking up in an instant—but I was standing on my own two feet.

Victor’s eyes went wide with absolute, paralyzing horror. He looked up at me, standing tall in the smoky light, his jaw dropping as if he were staring at a vengeful god risen from the underworld.

"Impossible..." Victor stammered, his hand shaking so violently he couldn't align the sights. "You're... you're a cripple..."

"I am the Harbor King," I growled, my voice echoing over the roar of the thermite fires.

I took one agonizing, heavy step forward. Then another.

I raised Marcus's Glock 19 with both hands, steadying my posture despite the violent shaking in my knees.

I locked the iron sights directly onto Victor’s chest.

BANG! BANG!

Two heavy 9mm rounds struck Victor centered in his chest armor, knocking him backward off his feet. He hit the concrete, gasping for air, the gun slipping from his paralyzed fingers.

I took three more steps, closing the distance, my stride growing stronger, faster, smoother with every passing second as adrenaline flushed the remaining toxins from my veins.

I stood over Victor, looking down into his terrified, blood-filled eyes.

"You took my life, Victor," I said coldly. "Now I'm taking yours."

I pulled the trigger one last time.

BANG.

Victor went limp.

The timer on the wall screamed: 00:35... 00:34... 00:33...

The roof above us began to buckle, massive steel girders bending under the intense heat of the thermite charges. Showers of bright, burning sparks rained down like deadly golden snow.

"Caleb!" Marcus yelled, stepping out from behind the destroyed crate after neutralizing the two mercenaries. His eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at me standing completely upright on my own two feet. "Boss... you're... you're walking!"

"We celebrate later!" I shouted over the deafening roar of the fire. "Where is Audrey?!"

I looked up toward the broken catwalk.

Audrey was pulling herself up from the concrete ledge, her white suit scorched and covered in black soot. She looked down at me—standing tall, holding a smoking gun, looking like the ruthless titan she had tried to bury eight years ago.

Pure, unadulterated terror filled her green eyes.

She turned and sprinted toward the high secondary exit that led out onto the elevated railway tracks behind the pier.

"Marcus, get Elena and the kids out the south sea-door!" I ordered, my voice leaving no room for debate. "Go! Now!"

"Caleb! The charges are going to blow in twenty seconds!" Marcus screamed.

"GO!"

I didn't wait for his reply. I turned toward the iron spiral staircase leading to the catwalk.

My right leg screamed in agony as I took the first metal step, but I didn't care. I grabbed the iron handrail, dragging myself up the stairs two at a time, my stride sharpening with every single step.