Chapter 207: Chapter 207: The Price of Defiance
Alexander drove through the dimly lit streets, his mind a chaotic blur of anger and exhaustion. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel of the Shelby as he replayed the night’s events over and over in his head. Because of his distraction, he didn’t notice the sudden shift in traffic until it was almost too late.
With a screech of heavy tires, a massive black SUV cut him off, blocking both lanes ahead. Alexander’s instincts flared, and his hand flew toward his horn as he opened his mouth to shout, but the words died in his throat. The doors of the SUV flew open, and two broad-shouldered men in tailored tactical suits stepped out, their expressions grim.
Without a second thought, Alexander slammed the shifter into reverse and smashed his foot on the gas. The Shelby roared, leaping backward, but a second black SUV materialized out of the shadows behind him, slamming into his rear bumper with a crunch.
Trapped, Alexander cut the wheel sharply and tried to accelerate forward, throwing the muscle car into a desperate, smoking drift onto the sidewalk. Before the tires could find traction, a third SUV swept in from the flank, T-boning the Shelby’s front fender and pinning the car against a concrete barrier.
Within a second, six armed operators flooded the perimeter, their tactical rifles raised and locked onto his windshield.
"Step out of the vehicle! Now!" one of them roared, his voice echoing over the hiss of the damaged radiator.
Alexander looked into the barrels of the rifles. Seeing that they hadn’t immediately opened fire to liquidate him on the spot, a cold calculation crossed his mind; there was still an opening to play this out. He slowly raised his hands, pushed the crumpled driver-side door open, and stepped out onto the asphalt.
The moment his boots touched the ground, the vanguard operator lunged forward, smashing the buttstock of an assault rifle directly into Alexander’s ribs.
"Down on the ground, you piece of shit!" the man barked.
Alexander collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as a second guard grabbed him by the hair, ripping his head back while a combat boot slammed into his stomach. The impact sent him rolling onto the cold pavement, coughing up dark blood.
"You think you’re some kind of hotshot, Agent 815?" another guard sneered, delivering a brutal kick to Alexander’s kidneys that made his vision go black around the edges. "You’re nothing but a worthless dog who couldn’t even do his one fucking job! The boss wants you to remember exactly where you belong in the food chain!"
They swarmed him, raining a barrage of heavy boots and insults down on his torso. Alexander locked his arms around his head, gritting his teeth and absorbing the blunt force, quietly biding his time to snatch a weapon the moment one of them got careless.
"Hey. Drop the attitude and step away from him."
A calm, dangerous voice cut cleanly through the sound of the beating.
The guards froze, turning their weapons toward the edge of the perimeter. Out of the shadows of the alleyway, Marcus strode into the dim light of the street lamps. He walked with the slow, unbothered posture of a seasoned gunslinger, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, nowhere near his holsters, yet radiating an aura of lethal confidence.
The lead operator’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the newcomer through his tactical visor. "Reaper. This is official Kingsley family business. Turn around and walk away, this has nothing to do with you."
"Like hell it doesn’t" said Marcus, his voice dropping into a chilling, low register as he took another step forward unfazed by the six rifles pointed at his chest. "If you boys know what’s actually good for your health, you’re going to take your goddamn hands off my friend right now."
The guards didn’t budge, their fingers tightening on their triggers.
Marcus let out a soft, mocking sigh, his eyes locking onto the leader with a predatory stillness. "Go ahead. Try it. Because I promise you, I wouldn’t mind sending six freshly packed coffins straight back to Joseph Kingsley’s front door tonight."
The guards quickly shifted their eyes toward their leader, waiting for the call. The leader hesitated, a cold sweat breaking out under his collar. Despite having the advantage in numbers, he didn’t feel safe for a single second. "Reaper" was an advanced agent with a terrifying reputation. The only reason they were still drawing breath right now was out of a lingering respect for Joseph Kingsley, but that didn’t mean the squad could continue pushing their luck.
"Fine. We’ll leave the brat alone" said the leader, his voice tight as he slowly lowered his rifle. "But remember this, Reaper you just directly interfered with orders straight from Joseph Kingsley."
"Yeah, I’ll be sure to remember that when I actually give a shit" said Marcus, his expression unbothered. "In the meantime, get the hell out of here. And you better pay for his car, or I’ll personally hunt you down and collect the debt myself."
"If you think you’ve got what it takes, come and collect it" the leader sneered, a smug grin flashing across his face.
BANG!
In a fraction of a millisecond, Marcus drew his weapon and fired a single, blinding shot. The heavy round tore cleanly through the air blowing the leader’s left ear off in a spray of blood. The man shrieked, dropping his rifle and clutching the side of his head as he stumbled backward.
"I didn’t ask" said Marcus, his smoking barrel already leveled directly between the man’s eyes, his voice dropping into a deathly stillness. "The next round will take your whole damn head off."
The remaining guards panicked, their faces turning pale as they grabbed their maimed leader by his tactical vest. The man was clutching the side of his head, blood pouring through his fingers, but despite the agonizing pain and the fact that he was bleeding out, he didn’t dare yell a single word back at Marcus.
They scrambled into their vehicles, engines roaring as they sped away into the night, fleeing the scene without a single person looking back.
