Page 116 of Scarred Ruin

We’d retreated to a second location away from the docks, a secure facility housing our personal weapons and a space my father had used for training new soldiers. Something I’d abandoned. Maybe I’d done so prematurely.

With Roman keeping a close eye on the other businesses as well as staying close to my house, I felt secure in taking the time necessary to eliminate the problem.

Even if my patience had tanked hours before.

From where we crouched in the woods only a few yards from the house, we could clearly hear the jovial holiday music along with laughter. They were certainly unremorseful about what they’d done.

Perhaps the president was arrogant enough to believe I’d still be licking my wounds. I scanned the perimeter one last time.

“Let’s be very clear,” I told Sergei and Kristoff. “If there are any women and children, they are to be escorted out to the predetermined location until we’re finished.”

Sergei sighed. He was more inclined to eradicate everyone inside. Maybe as I’d grown older I’d managed to keep some sense of a conscience intact.

Or perhaps as both Sergei and Roman had insisted in two short months that Isabel’s goodness had rubbed off on me.

“Go.”

The last camera was cut and almost instantly, we could hear an alarm over the loud music.

Everything moved quickly from there, my men kicking in the front door while there were others positioned around back to do so as well. The fuckers weren’t going to be allowed to get away.

The Dixie boys had been more prepared than I’d thought, weapons raised and shots fired within seconds. That meant they’d planned for our arrival.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

I moved through the clubhouse, immediately kicking a huge man lumbering toward me. As his body was pitched backward, crashing into a set of tables and chairs, his gun went off.

“Find the bald man.”

People scrambled, women screaming and somewhere in the midst, I noticed the man who’d taken the presidency around the same time I’d been given the reins.

Rocky Torrent wasn’t what anyone might expect.

He was an accountant for a large and highly respected firm in the city. I’d read his profile, absorbed every detail I’d been able to find and had memorized his picture. By day, he appeared very much the stereotypical number cruncher in a suit.

But when I’d peeled away the layers, I’d learned about his sordid background and heritage.

His grandfather had started the Dixie mafia almost three decades before. Through his leadership, the group’s bank account held millions, mostly from acts of extortion as well as having made dozens of decent, legitimate trades on the stock market.

Wham.

Pop! Pop!

Screams of agony turned into thuds as bodies were pitched across the room.

We were dealing with a completely different group of men than I’d originally believed. Another reason their entire world needed to be eradicated.

As I headed for Rocky, I suddenly had a gun pointed at my face.

“Die, you Russian fucker.” The man’s gruff voice held amusement while his words were confirmation they’d been expecting retaliation.

A gut punch was followed by one to his face, breaking his nose. But he managed a swing of his own, tossing me back by several feet.

I was finished with playing nice, leveling my weapon at him. The chaos continued, although the noise slowly began to subside. There were two dozen men down, most writhing in pain.

Wham!

A body was knocked down beside me, Kristoff grinning before firing off two bullets into the man’s face. “He’s wearing one of our shirts. That pissed me off.”