Never Cross the Back-Gate Guard

Chapter 004

Oakhaven Crest sat nestled in the wooded hills northwest of Havenport—the most exclusive gated enclave in the entire metropolitan area.

Money alone couldn’t buy a deed inside those walls; even Havenport’s wealthiest real estate moguls couldn’t get past the outer perimeter. The residents of Oakhaven Crest were retired four-star generals, federal power brokers, and old-money kingmakers.

Stepping out of a cab near the entrance, Cole immediately noticed the sentries posted at the main guardhouse. They stood like cast-iron statues, backs ramrod straight, eyes sweeping the approach with cold, mechanical precision. Even from fifty feet away, Cole could feel the unmistakable edge rolling off them—the quiet, lethal aura of men who had walked through blood and gunsmoke and come out the other side.

Screeech!

Tires howled against the asphalt right behind him. A gloss-black Rolls-Royce Phantom locked its brakes, coming to a dead stop less than two feet from the back of Cole’s knees.

Cole didn’t even flinch. Truthfully, even if the sedan had been going twice as fast, he could have cleared the hood without breaking a sweat; dodging high-velocity rounds had been part of his daily routine for years.

The driver’s window rolled down, and a beefy chauffeur stuck his head out. “Are you fucking deaf, pal?! Get out of the road!”

Ignoring him completely, Cole turned and continued walking toward the guardhouse.

The rear door of the Rolls-Royce swung open, and Julian Hayes stepped out in an immaculate white bespoke suit. Adjusting his cuffs, he looked Cole up and down and let out a mocking laugh. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Nathan Mercer’s little brother.”

Talk about a small world. Julian eyed Cole’s faded fifty-dollar jacket and sneered. “If you’re looking to panhandle, you picked the wrong neighborhood. Try begging outside Oakhaven Crest, and the sentries are liable to put a round through your skull for trespassing.”

It wasn’t an idle threat—the private detail guarding Oakhaven Crest operated under federal security clearance with authorization to use lethal force against perceived threats.

Cole spared him a flat glance. “Do I know you?”

He hadn’t seen Julian in the HR office earlier, though Julian had watched him through the glass partition of his executive suite.

Julian smirked. “Not yet. But since you’re scrubbing the bottom of the barrel at Sterling Textiles, you’ll figure out who runs your life soon enough.” To Julian, a back-gate trash guard wasn’t even worth scraping off his shoe.

At that moment, one of the uniformed sentries marched over, his boots clicking sharply on the pavement. Julian instantly wiped the smirk off his face and straightened his posture respectfully.

The sentry offered a crisp salute. “Afternoon, gentlemen. State your business.”

Julian spoke up immediately, his tone polite and eager. “I’m Julian Hayes. I have a scheduled visit with Commissioner Arthur Pendelton of the Metropolitan Water Authority.”

Cole spoke right after him. “Here to see General Kane.”

Julian burst out laughing. “Oh, give me a break! Have you looked in a mirror lately? What makes you think someone like you could even shine shoes for the people living in here?”

Click-clack.

In a blur of motion, the sentry drew his sidearm and leveled the matte-black barrel directly between Cole’s eyes. “Who the hell are you?” the guard barked.

Beside them, Julian nearly jumped out of his skin, his knees going weak at the sight of the drawn nine-millimeter.

Cole slowly lifted his gaze, reached into his coat pocket, and held out the cream envelope.

The instant Cole’s eyes met his, the sentry’s breath hitched. Every guard on the Oakhaven detail was a veteran tier-one contractor who wouldn’t blink if an artillery shell landed ten yards away. Yet looking into Cole’s calm, bottomless eyes sent a sudden, primal chill straight down the guard’s neck.

This guy is lethal.

Keeping his weapon trained, the sentry reached out with his free hand to take the envelope—and froze when he saw Cole’s right hand. Thick, yellowed calluses ridged the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and along the pads of his trigger finger. Those weren’t laborer’s calluses; they were the unmistakable marks of a man who had fired hundreds of thousands of rounds.

“Lower the piece,” Cole said evenly. “I don’t like having barrels pointed at my head. Doesn’t matter who’s holding it.”

The sentry’s jaw tightened. “On this post, that sentence alone gives me clearance to drop you where you stand. Believe that?”

“And I can snap your neck before your finger finishes the five-pound pull on that trigger,” Cole replied conversationally. “Believe that?”

Yeah. I believe it. The sentry swallowed hard. No civilian—and no ordinary soldier—could stare down the bore of a chambered nine-millimeter with the casual indifference of a man ordering coffee. This guy was an apex predator.

Lowering his pistol a fraction, the sentry took a measured step back. “Wait right here. I need to phone this in for verification.” He spun on his heel and double-timed it back to the guardhouse.

Seeing the guard retreat, Julian regained his swagger and sneered at Cole. “If you’ve got half a brain left, you’ll start running before he gets off the phone. Once they confirm you’re a fraud, you’re leaving here in a body bag.”

Cole folded his arms across his chest, looking at Julian sideways. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much?”

Talk too much? Julian’s face darkened instantly. Nathan Mercer curled into a ball every time someone raised their voice at the office, and now his trash-guard brother had the gall to talk back to him? “Listen to me, you piece of garbage, you’d better watch your fucking mouth—”

Cole turned his head, his eyes locking onto Julian like twin ice picks driving straight into his chest. Julian’s words died in his throat as he stumbled a step backward. “W-What do you think you’re doing?”

Before Cole could answer, the wrought-iron pedestrian gate swung open, and a tall, striking woman stepped out. She wore a sleek, form-fitting crimson midi dress that accentuated her long legs and narrow waist, her posture radiating effortless poise and sophistication.

Julian’s eyes practically glued themselves to her. He had always had a weakness for mature, elegant women with an air of authority—the exact reason he was wasting his time at a textile firm chasing after a married mother like Victoria Sterling.

Stopping in front of them, the woman offered a polite, professional smile. “Good afternoon. I’m the estate director for Oakhaven Crest. Your clearances have been verified—both of you may come inside.”

Julian’s jaw dropped. “Wait—this bum is actually cleared to go in? How is that possible?!”

The woman’s dark brows knitted slightly, and the warmth vanished from her gaze as she looked at Julian. “This gentleman is an invited guest of General Kane. I suggest you show some basic respect on these grounds.”

General Kane’s guest? Julian scoffed internally. So what? He was here to see Commissioner Pendelton, the man who controlled the city’s entire water infrastructure! Looking Cole up and down, Julian let out a snide laugh. “Well, colour me surprised. Who knew a pathetic freeloader like Nathan Mercer had a brother who could worm his way into Oakhaven Crest?”

CRACK!

The gunshot-sharp sound of an open-palm slap echoed across the driveway.

The woman in the crimson dress blinked once, her eyelashes fluttering, before politely turning her gaze toward the hedges as if she hadn’t seen a thing.

Cole shook out his wrist and looked at Julian coldly. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you to keep your mouth shut if you don’t know how to talk?”

That strike carried every ounce of frustration Cole had swallowed all day on his brother’s behalf.

Blood gushed from Julian’s nose. Clutching his burning cheek, he stared at Cole in stunned, murderous disbelief. “You motherf—”

CRACK!

A backhand caught Julian across the other side of his jaw, lifting him clean off his loafers and slamming him flat onto the asphalt. He gagged, spitting out a mouthful of blood along with three white molars.

Inside the Rolls-Royce, the chauffeur shrank down behind the steering wheel, not daring to make a peep. He got paid to drive the car, not to take a beating for the boss’s kid. With trembling fingers, he quietly pulled out his cell phone to call Mr. Hayes Senior.

Cole stood over Julian, looking down at him like roadkill. “If your parents didn’t raise you right, I’ll educate you myself. Remember this for next time: if I ever hear you run your mouth about my brother again, you won’t have any teeth left to chew with.”