KNEEL BEFORE THE HIDDEN HEIR

Blood on the North Bridge

The windshield exploded into a shower of white safety glass.

Caleb dipped his head by two inches. The heavy bullet whistled past his temple, ripping clean through the leather headrest and blowing a hole through the rear window.

He did not touch the brakes.

The speedometer needle trembled past ninety miles per hour. Ahead, the two black SUVs stood sideways across the lanes, completely sealing off the suspension bridge. Men in dark tactical raincoats jumped out from behind the open doors, raising suppressed submachine guns.

Muzzle flashes strobed through the downpour like erratic camera shutters.

Lead chewed through the hood of the Mercedes. Steam burst from the punctured radiator.

Caleb pulled the handbrake hard with his left hand while cranking the wheel with his right.

The Mercedes violently swung sideways into a high-speed drift, tires shrieking against rain and shredded glass. The tail of the car slammed into the side of the first SUV with a deafening metallic crunch, deploying the sedan's airbags in an explosion of white powder.

Before the mercs could realign their sights on the wreckage, Caleb was already moving.

He kicked the driver’s door straight off its hinges. The heavy steel door flew out like a missile, crashing into the two front shooters and sending them skidding across the slick wet asphalt, their ribs cracking under the blow.

"Fire! Open fire on the wreck!" a voice shouted through a radio.

Three hitmen pivoted toward the driver's side, spraying bullets into the interior.

Empty seats.

"Where is he?" one yelled.

"Right behind you," a voice replied softly from the shadows.

The shooter spun around, but Caleb’s hand was already there. Caleb caught the man’s gun barrel with his bare left palm, bending the steel chamber upward with a sickening shriek of twisting metal. With his right hand, Caleb struck the man's throat with an open palm.

The shooter collapsed without even making a sound.

The remaining two hitmen backed away in panic, frantically raising their rifles.

Caleb stepped forward. His movements were smooth, silent, and impossible to track. He closed the ten-foot gap before either man could pull their triggers. He grabbed the wrists of both shooters, twisting inward.

Snap. Snap.

Both men screamed in agony as their joints dislocated. Their weapons clattered onto the wet bridge. Caleb drove his boots into their knees, dropping them flat onto the rain-drenched tarmac.

In less than twenty seconds, six trained operatives lay groaning or unconscious in the storm.

Caleb stood in the heavy downpour, water dripping from his dark hair. His clothes were soaked, but not a single drop of blood on the bridge belonged to him.

A click echoed from forty feet above.

Caleb tilted his head up. High on the maintenance catwalk of the suspension tower, the sniper was frantically reloading his heavy rifle. Seeing that his squad had been eliminated in seconds, the sniper abandoned the gun, clipped a carabiner to an escape zipline, and jumped to slide down toward an idle speedboat waiting in the dark river below.

Caleb did not chase him on foot.

He looked down at the bent rifle barrel on the ground. Caleb hooked his toe beneath the steel frame, flipped the heavy weapon into his hand, and threw it upward with terrifying rotational force.

The heavy rifle sliced through the rain like a javelin.

Crack!

The flying steel shattered the pulley mechanism mid-air. The cable snapped with a loud whip sound.

The sniper plummeted twenty feet, crashing hard onto the roof of the second SUV before rolling onto the hood with a pained groan. His mask tore off upon impact, exposing a bloodied, scarred face.

Caleb walked over, his wet dress shoes stepping calmly through puddles of rain and broken glass.

He planted his foot onto the sniper’s shattered collarbone, pressing just enough to keep him pinned.

"Who hired you?" Caleb asked in a quiet, even voice.

The sniper spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the hood, his chest heaving. "Go to hell... live-in dog. You think... you survived tonight? Young Master Hayes... already moved on to the next target."

Caleb's eyes narrowed. "What target?"

The sniper’s bloody lips twisted into a cruel grin.

"The hospital. While we held you on this bridge... the real cleaners went to Saint Mary's. Your dying sister Liviana... they're unhooking her oxygen tanks right now."

Caleb’s face did not twitch, but the air around him suddenly dropped ten degrees.

A low, mechanical rumble began to vibrate through the bridge cables.

Through the fog and rain behind Caleb, four identical black armored Maybachs with darkened windows tore onto the bridge, coming to a synchronized stop twenty yards away.

Dozens of men in black combat suits poured out, umbrellas raised, guns drawn. At their front was Marcus Vance, Caleb’s personal commander, moving with cold military precision.

Marcus sprinted through the rain and dropped to one knee before Caleb.

"Lord Vance!" Marcus reported, his voice cutting through the wind. "The perimeter is secured. The bridge is locked down."

Caleb took his foot off the sniper’s chest and looked at Marcus.

"Get the helicopter in the air," Caleb ordered, his voice cold enough to freeze water. "We are going to Saint Mary’s Hospital. If a single machine in my sister's room has been touched... wipe out the entire Hayes family by dawn."