Chapter 218: Chapter 218: Alarm
Alexander climbed into the driver’s seat, nodding to Bryan as he closed the reinforced door. The solid thud echoed with the density of a bank vault. He pressed the hidden ignition switch inside the armrest, and the engine purred to life with a muted, deep rumble.
As he pulled out of the warehouse, the difference in handling was staggering. This wasn’t like wrestling the muscle of the Shelby Mustang GT500; the Tahoe felt like driving an cloud. Despite weighing easily over four tons due to the dense composite steel plates and the thick 45mm ballistic glass, the custom suspension absorbed the road so smoothly it barely felt like they were moving at all.
"I should probably load up on some hardware before something actually goes sideways," Alexander muttered to himself, checking his mirrors.
His first stop was to retrieve his remaining assets. He drove back toward his temporary staging area to collect his luggage. To his slight surprise, TMC hadn’t even bothered to freeze his access or demand a cut of the Kingsley payout yet; he figured they either trusted his performance or simply didn’t care about a single million when larger plays were moving in the city.
When he arrived to pick up the cash, the Mary apartment was eerily quiet. There wasn’t a single soul around, which felt distinctly strange given the recent chaos, but Alexander didn’t waste time overthinking it. He grabbed the leather duffel bag of cash and the secure metal briefcase, tossing them both into the hidden floor compartments of the Tahoe. Even inside the vehicle, that familiar, irritating sensation of a hidden tail drilling into the back of his neck refused to disappear.
Deciding he needed to be holding more than a standard pistol if an ambush was coming, he navigated the silver SUV through the city streets, heading toward the underground gun den Marcus had introduced him to.
Pushing open the weathered storefront door, the interior looked exactly the same—smelling of gun oil and old wood—but the grizzled old clerk was completely missing. Instead, a sharp-eyed young man stood behind the counter.
"Hey," said Alexander, casually leaning against the glass display case. "I’m looking to buy some fresh hardware."
"Of course," said the young man, his eyes tracking Alexander’s bruised face with immediate suspicion. "Do you have your federal permits and registration documents ready for verification?"
"I don’t have any of that paperwork on me," said Alexander bluntly.
"Then I can’t sell you a single round, sir. I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave," said the young man, his posture tightening.
Alexander frowned, looking around the empty room. "Where is the old man who was working here last time? He was significantly more flexible about the rules."
The young man’s expression turned icy. "I see... Wait right here for a moment."
He stepped quickly into the back storage room. Before Alexander could even process the shift in atmosphere, the side doors burst open. Five heavily armed men spilled out from the shadows, their assault rifles raised and cocking as they formed a tight semi-circle, pointing the barrels at his chest.
"Easy, easy," said Alexander, slowly raising his hands but keeping his voice perfectly calm. "What the hell is going on here?"
The young man stepped back out from the office, holding a shotgun, his face twisted in fury. "Someone tried to brutally assassinate my uncle yesterday. He’s currently in critical condition, and you walk in here asking for him by name. You clearly know something about the hit, so you better start talking right now, or you are not leaving this room alive."
The young man stepped forward, violently swinging the stock of the shotgun toward Alexander’s jaw.
"Relax! Reaper sent me! Reaper sent me...!!!" shouted Alexander, ducking his head just enough to avoid the blunt impact. "I came here to buy hardware with Reaper not even a week ago!"
The mention of the call sign made the armed men pause. One of the older guards in the back lowered his rifle slightly, squinting at Alexander before looking over at the furious nephew.
"Hold on, boss. Calm down," said the older guard, reaching into his tactical vest. "We can settle this very easily."
The guard pulled out a secure satellite phone dialed a restricted number, and waited for the line to connect. "Hey. We have a young guy down at the shop. Black hair, blue eyes, wearing a black shirt and dress pants... looks like he’s been in a massive brawl."
The guard paused, listening to the muffled voice on the other end, then looked back up at Alexander. "Are you named Alexander, Marcus’s little bitch?"
Alexander’s eyes flashed with annoyance. "Tell that asshole to go to hell."
A loud, distinct roar of deep, booming laughter echoed clearly from the phone speaker as Marcus enjoyed the response from the other end.
The guard immediately hung up the phone, a sheepish, apologetic smile replacing his hardened glare as he signaled the other men to lower their weapons. "It seems like there was a massive misunderstanding, sir. Please accept our deepest apologies. It has been an incredibly complicated, paranoid couple of days around here lately."
"I deeply apologize, sir," said the young man, lowering his shotgun completely, his face turning pale as he realized who he had almost bashed in the face. He turned to the older guard, gesturing quickly toward the secure back area. "Take him to the back storage room."
The young man turned his attention back to Alexander, bowing his head slightly in embarrassment. "If you wish, you can drive your SUV around to the rear loading bay so we can pack everything directly into the back. We’re trying to be exceptionally discreet with our inventory right now given the situation. And once again, I am truly sorry for the trouble, sir."
Alexander didn’t take the sudden hostility personally, extreme paranoia was just a basic survival trait.
"Don’t worry about it, there’s no problem," said Alexander, casually dropping his hands back into his pockets. "I’d probably be doing the exact same thing if I were in your shoes."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the store, the tension completely defused. Climbing back into the plush driver’s seat of the silver Tahoe, he started the engine and drove around the block, navigating the massive SUV into the narrow alleyway behind the shop. The moment he approached the rear of the building an automated metal shutter groaned aloud and began to roll upward, revealing a dark, secure loading bay and a guard waving a flashlight to signal him exactly where to park.
