Chapter 8 - The Siege at the Gym
The Rourke MMA Training Center was an eight-thousand-square-foot industrial warehouse located in an isolated commercial district near the Savannah docks.
Inside, the lights were low.
In the center of the warehouse stood a full-sized octagonal fighting cage.
Inside the cage, Sophie Hale sat bound to a folding chair, her hands zip-tied behind her back, a piece of tape over her mouth. She was crying softly, her eyes filled with terror.
Surrounding the cage were six heavily armed mercenaries dressed in tactical gear, carrying automatic rifles. Victor Kross stood near the ring apron, smoking a cigarette, checking a heavy titanium combat knife.
Over by the weight racks stood Jace Rourke, Colin Drake, and Reid Walker. Jace looked terrified, backed up against the wall, realizing too late that his gym had been hijacked by real international killers.
"Who are these people, Colin?!" Jace whispered frantically. "They have assault rifles! Why did you let them in?!"
"I didn't let them in!" Colin stammered, shaking violently. "They shot the security guards at the gate!"
Victor Kross turned to Jace, smiling coldly. "Be quiet, little fighter. You brought us the greatest gift in the world. You drew Apex 1 out of the shadows."
Suddenly, the heavy metal high-bay doors at the front of the gym blew inward with a deafening explosion of spark and smoke.
The main power grid died instantly, plunging the massive warehouse into pitch darkness.
"Tangoes! Night vision!" Kross screamed, reaching for his weapon.
Before the mercenaries could even lower their goggles, three silenced shots rang through the dark.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Three mercenaries collapsed to the concrete floor before their brains could register the muzzle flashes.
Mason moved through the dark like an elemental force of nature. He was not a sport fighter following rules; he was a phantom executing a sweep.
He slid under a heavy bench press rack, coming up behind a fourth gunman, grabbing the man's throat and snapping his neck with a violent twist before taking his assault rifle and firing a four-round burst into two more mercenaries taking cover behind the cardio machines.
In less than forty-five seconds, six elite international hitmen lay dead on the floor.
May you like
Jace Rourke slid down the wall, screaming in pure horror as he watched the waiter move through the dark like a specter of death.
"Kross!" Mason's voice boomed through the echoing warehouse, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Touch my daughter, and I will tear you apart."
