Chapter 5 - The Blood on the Country Road
The rain pounded against the Bentley's roof like a drumbeat of war.
Keller walked up to the driver's side, drawing a suppressed nine-millimeter pistol from his coat, raising it toward Lionel’s head through the glass. "Get out of the car, driver. Leave the old man inside."
Before Keller could press the barrel against the glass, Alexander pressed the electronic button on the rear door console.
The heavy, armored rear door burst outward with explosive force!
CLANG!
The four-hundred-pound reinforced door slammed directly into Keller’s chest, shattering his ribs and sending him flying backward six feet into the mud!
Alexander stepped out into the storm.
He stood six-foot-three, his dark coat whipping in the wind, his eyes burning with an unholy, lethal light. Six years of corporate life had made the world forget what Alexander Roses had been before he became a billionaire—a ruthless, hardened street negotiator who had fought his way out of the rough docks of Liverpool.
The second mercenary lunged forward, swinging an iron pipe toward Alexander's head!
Alexander ducked beneath the blow with practiced ease, grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it backward until the joint snapped with a wet CRACK, and slammed his knee into the gunman's stomach!
The man dropped like a sack of stones into the mud.
"Shoot him! Shoot him!" the third gunman screamed, raising his weapon!
From inside the Bentley, the tan puppy let out a fierce, piercing bark—YAP! YAP!—distracting the shooter for a split second!
That split second was all Alexander needed. He closed the distance in two lunges, disarming the gunman with a sweeping elbow to the jaw, seizing the fallen pistol, and driving the butt of the heavy weapon into the man's temple!
In less than forty seconds, three mercenaries lay groaning in the mud.
Keller, spitting blood on the wet gravel, tried to crawl toward his fallen gun.
Alexander walked over, placing his heavy leather boot squarely on Keller’s chest, pinning him to the earth. He pointed the suppressed pistol directly between Keller’s eyes.
"Julian sent you," Alexander said, his voice flat, unaffected by the adrenaline.
"Go... go to hell, Roses," Keller wheezed, blood bubbling from his lips.
Alexander pressed the barrel deeper into his forehead. "You have five seconds to tell me the access code Julian set for the Mayfair executive floor override. If you lie, you die here in the mud, and no one will ever find your body."
Keller looked into Alexander’s eyes. He saw no mercy, no corporate hesitation, only absolute, void-like intent.
"Four," Alexander counted softly.
"8-8-4-1!" Keller screamed, weeping in terror. "8-8-4-1! He changed it an hour ago! That's the master override!"
Alexander stared at him for two agonizing seconds, then brought the grip of the gun down across Keller's jaw, knocking him cold.
He tossed the weapon into the bushes, wiped his hands on his handkerchief, and walked back to the Bentley.
Lionel sat behind the wheel, his hands trembling on the steering wheel, his eyes wide with shock. He had served Alexander for ten years, but he had never seen the monster hiding beneath the billionaire's tailored suits.
"Clear the fallen branch with the car, Lionel," Alexander instructed as he climbed back into the rear seat.
The tan puppy immediately leaped back onto Alexander's lap, licking his bloody knuckles with gentle, furious affection.
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Alexander looked at his watch. 5:10 PM.
"Fifty minutes to London," Alexander said, stroking the puppy’s ears gently. "Let's go home."
