Chapter 12: The Ghost Protocol
Before Detective Reynolds could apply the final ounce of pressure to his trigger, the aluminum air conditioning duct above him violently collapsed.
A hundred and ninety pounds of former Marine Force Recon dropped directly from the ceiling like a nightmare made of shadows.
Marcus landed silently directly behind Reynolds. In one fluid, brutal motion, he wrapped his left arm around the detective’s throat in a blood choke, while his right hand pinned the man’s gun arm against his hip.
Reynolds choked, a sickening gasp escaping his lips as his eyes bulged in pure panic.
“You should have looked up, Detective,” Marcus whispered directly into the corrupt cop’s ear, his voice sounding like grinding gravel.
Marcus applied pressure to the carotid artery, cutting off the blood flow to Reynolds’s brain. The detective thrashed violently, kicking at the concrete, but he was trapped in a vice grip forged by years of elite combat training.
“Drop the gun,” Marcus ordered.
Reynolds stubbornly tried to lift the weapon.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. He brutally wrenched Reynolds’s arm backward, snapping the elbow joint with a loud, sickening CRACK.
Reynolds screamed, dropping the weapon instantly.
Marcus threw the broken man to the concrete floor and placed his heavy combat boot directly on Reynolds’s chest, pinning him down.
Jennifer finally exhaled, lowering her weapon. She looked at Marcus, covered in drywall dust and blood, looking like an absolute demon of war.
“The team upstairs?” Jennifer asked, her voice trembling.
“Neutralized,” Marcus said coldly, his chest heaving. He looked down at the writhing detective. “And this piece of garbage is going to tell us exactly how many more are waiting outside.”
“I’ll kill you!” Reynolds spat, clutching his broken arm, tears streaming down his face. “You’re dead, you hear me? Mateo will tear you apart!”
Marcus leaned down, pressing his forearm against Reynolds’s throat.
“Mateo isn’t a problem anymore. And you have exactly five seconds to tell me the extraction route, or I’m going to break your other arm.”
“Go to hell!” Reynolds choked out.
“Five,” Marcus started counting, his grip tightening.
“Four.”
“Wait!” Reynolds gasped, his eyes darting frantically. “You don’t understand! It wasn’t just this house!”
Marcus stopped. The icy calm in his veins suddenly spiked with a toxic, burning terror.
“What did you just say?” Marcus demanded, his voice dropping dangerously low.
Reynolds laughed, a wet, bloody sound.
“You think they didn’t do their homework on the new security director? They know who you are, Webb. They know about Riverside Bistro. They know you’re the one who embarrassed the boss’s son.”
Marcus felt his heart stop beating. The world around him seemed to slow down to a terrifying crawl.
“Where are they?” Marcus asked, his voice barely a whisper now.
Reynolds smiled, showing blood-stained teeth.
“They didn’t just come for Elena’s kid, Webb. Mateo sent a secondary team thirty minutes ago. To a little house on the east side. To pick up a little girl named Lily.”
Marcus completely froze.
The shotgun fell from his hands, clattering loudly against the concrete floor.
