No Fortune Can Buy His Mercy

Chapter 009

This time, Elias Vance held nothing back. The open-handed strike connected with such force that Dexter Hayes was literally launched off the ground, his body spinning through the air before crashing back down in a graceless heap. He tumbled across the linoleum like a ragdoll, rolling until he came to rest at the feet of the woman who had just arrived. Blood covered his face in a slick mask of red, and his eyes fluttered as consciousness threatened to abandon him entirely.

"Oh no. We're done for."

Leo slapped his own forehead hard enough to leave a mark. This time Elias had truly crossed a line he couldn't uncross, and there was no way he was walking out of Cresthaven after this.

"You..." The woman's head snapped up, and in the span of a single heartbeat, the fury in her expression dissolved into something far more primal: raw, undisguised fear.

Elias regarded her with the same flat calm he might offer a stranger on the street. "It's you."

The newcomer was Chloe Sinclair, and the bloody mess at her feet was her brother. After Elias had departed the banquet earlier, the Sterling family hadn't been able to stomach continuing the event, and the celebration had ended in humiliating fashion. Chloe had arrived at Aegis Medical Center with a belly full of rage, intending to unleash every ounce of frustration she'd swallowed at the banquet. The last thing she expected was to come face to face with the man who'd caused it all, barely an hour later.

"It was him," Dexter groaned from the floor, clawing weakly at his sister's ankle. Blood bubbled at the corner of his lips. "He's the one who hit me. You have to make him pay."

Chloe's eyes flashed. "Why are you going after my brother? What did he ever do to you?"

Elias didn't so much as blink. "He wasn't acting like a human being. Naturally, he got hit like one who forgot."

Behind Chloe stood a man with close-cropped hair and a lean, coiled frame. His clothing was plain and functional, but his gaze cut like a blade, and a whisper of killing intent radiated from his stillness.

"Test him," Chloe murmured, stepping back until her lips were beside the man's ear.

He gave a single nod. His hands hung loose at his sides, but his fingers had begun moving in small rhythmic twitches, limbering up with practiced precision. "If you apologize now," he said, his voice cold and measured, "you might still have a chance to walk out of here."

"Fine! I'll apologize!" Leo shook free of Maya Brooks's grip and surged forward, planting himself between the two groups. "However you want me to do it, I'll do it. But I have one condition: you let my sister go, and you let my buddy leave Cresthaven. That's all I'm asking."

Chloe's lip curled with contempt. "You think we're here for some nobody like you? Why would I need an apology from an insect?"

Elias watched Leo's reckless bravery with a mixture of exasperation and quiet warmth, then gestured to Gideon, who stepped forward and pulled Leo back without a word, firm but gentle.

"An apology?" Elias said, his hands clasped behind his back. "You should at least find out what actually happened here before demanding one."

"I don't need to know what happened," Chloe sneered. "All I need to know is that you put your hands on someone. That's enough."

Elias smiled faintly and said nothing more. The silence itself was an answer, heavier than any threat.

The short-haired man's fingers were moving faster now, flickering with an almost hypnotic fluidity. Then his hand snapped upward, and suddenly there was a pistol in his grip, materialized as if from thin air.

"A military-issue 1911," Elias observed, a cold light flickering through his eyes. "Phoenix quick-draw technique. You're from a direct unit under Phoenix Sector?"

The man hesitated, the shot unfired. He kept the barrel trained on Elias but couldn't mask his surprise. "So you know your stuff. Then you should know I heard all about your arrogance at that banquet tonight. You just hadn't run into me yet. Now your luck's run out."

A small smile touched Chloe's lips. No matter how good these two were with their fists, they couldn't outfight a bullet. Caleb Bishop was a marksman of genuine renown, a consecutive champion in military marksmanship competitions.

"A soldier's weapon," Gideon said, his voice dropping to something glacial, "exists to defend this nation against its enemies. Not to be aimed at its own people."

Caleb snorted, the gun unwavering. "You savagely attacked Dexter Hayes. You're criminals. Are you telling me I can't use my sidearm to bring criminals to justice?"

Elias shook his head. "Handle it by the book."

Gideon rolled his shoulders. His spine rippled with a series of sharp pops, like a string of firecrackers detonating along his vertebrae, and in that instant his entire body seemed to compress into a human projectile ready to launch.

But before anyone could move, a man in his mid-thirties wearing military camouflage came sprinting around the corner, waving his arms. "Wait! Hold on!"

Caleb froze at the sight of him.

"Who's that?" Elias glanced at Gideon.

"No idea," Gideon replied. "I saw him get off the gunship earlier, but he never showed himself. Probably someone from the 24th Division."

"Uncle?" Caleb blurted out, the pistol dipping a fraction. "What are you doing here?"

The man closed the distance in three strides, shoved Caleb's gun hand down, ripped the weapon from his grip, and delivered a thunderous slap across his nephew's face in one fluid sequence. The sound cracked through the corridor like a gunshot of its own.

He turned toward Gideon and instinctively began raising his hand in salute, but caught the sharp warning in Gideon's eyes and aborted the motion. "Mr. Lancaster," he said, his voice tight with forced composure, "I'm Marcus Bishop, division commander of the 24th Division, Cresthaven garrison. This is my nephew, Caleb."

Marcus had realized that a figure of Gideon's stature appearing covertly in Cresthaven meant something far above his pay grade was in motion. He wasn't about to blow anyone's cover.

Gideon offered no acknowledgment or denial. He simply looked at Elias.

Marcus followed that gaze, and when his eyes landed on Elias Vance, his pupils contracted sharply. Was this man truly the one whose name was whispered like a prayer and a curse across every military installation in the country?

"Your nephew's training," Elias said, his tone neither warm nor cold, "was that meant to be used against us?"

"Sir, I..." Marcus could barely string a sentence together. Every instinct was screaming confirmation. This was Marshal Vance. The legend himself, standing in a hospital corridor in civilian clothes.

"Uncle!" Caleb clutched his stinging cheek. "This guy attacked someone right here in this hospital, and then acted like the world owed him something! I was doing the right thing!"

Marcus whipped around and struck Caleb across the face a second time, his expression twisted with fury that bordered on terror. "The right thing? Pointing your weapon at a civilian is the right thing? I sent you to train inside Phoenix Sector to learn discipline, and this is what you do with it? Get on your knees. Now."

His uncle had always been the person who cared for him most in this world, but also the one who held him to the harshest standard. Slowly, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, Caleb lowered himself to his knees.

"Stop hanging around people who can't tell right from wrong," Marcus snarled, jabbing a finger toward Chloe without looking at her. "You've lost the ability to distinguish good from evil yourself! From this moment on, you are forbidden from associating with these people. You will go home immediately, and for the remainder of your leave, you will not set foot outside that door. Am I clear?"

Caleb's lips trembled with unspoken protest, but he swallowed it down, rose in silence, and walked away without looking back. His shoulders were rigid with humiliation, each step echoing until he disappeared around the corner.

"He hasn't been dismissed yet," Gideon said flatly. "And you're letting him go?"

"Forget it," Elias said with a light wave of his hand. "He's young, doesn't know better, and just fell in with the wrong crowd."

The tension drained from Marcus's shoulders like water from a broken dam. If this had been pursued formally, Caleb would have been destroyed, and Marcus himself might have been dragged down with him.

Through all of this, Leo and Maya stood rooted in place, watching with mouths hanging open. Leo's mind raced. The division commander of Cresthaven's garrison was practically groveling at Elias's feet. What kind of business did Elias build out in the Western Badlands? What kind of man came back from that place with this much authority radiating off him like heat from a furnace?

"Thank you for your understanding, sir," Marcus managed. The identity of the man before him was almost too immense to look at directly, like staring into the sun.

Elias gave a slight nod. "Let this be a lesson going forward, Commander."

Marcus bowed his head, then turned to face Chloe. His expression hardened, all the deference he'd shown Elias curdling into open hostility. "Keep away from my nephew from now on. If you don't, I make no promises about what I'll do to the Hayes family."

Chloe paled under the weight of his glare. "You think you can speak to me like that, Commander? Don't you think you're overstepping?"

Marcus let out a cold laugh. "Try me."

She had no retort. If Marcus Bishop truly decided to move, the Hayes family couldn't withstand it. And with the enigmatic Elias Vance already on the opposite side, provoking yet another powerful enemy would be beyond foolish. Her jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists at her sides, but she held her tongue.

"Commander Bishop," Dexter called out from the floor, his voice nasal and wet with blood, "you can't just ignore what happened! They attacked me first! Caleb was only trying to help!"

"What are you, exactly?" Marcus backhanded him across his already swollen face without hesitation. "What gives you the right to call anyone else a thug?"

Dexter's head snapped sideways. He stood frozen afterward, teeth grinding behind bloodied lips, but he didn't dare say another word. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and for the first time since this nightmare began, genuine terror crept into his eyes.

"Sir," Gideon said, turning toward Marcus. "Mr. Vance's sister broke her leg and requires surgery. This young man here decided no doctor would be allowed to operate on her." He let that hang in the air. "How do you think this should be handled, Commander?"

Cold sweat nearly broke across Marcus's brow. Thank God he'd arrived in time. If Caleb had gotten any deeper into this, aligning himself with someone who'd deliberately blocked medical care for Marshal Vance's family, it would have been the end of them both.

"Shoot him," Marcus said without hesitation.

Every person on Chloe's side went rigid. The air in the corridor seemed to solidify into something thick and suffocating. Dexter's knees buckled, his face draining of every remaining drop of color until he was whiter than the hospital walls surrounding them.

Gideon glanced at Elias, waiting for the final word.

"Too easy for him," Elias said quietly.

"Then I defer to you, sir," Marcus replied, stepping back with his hands clasped behind him.

Elias turned his gaze to Dexter, and the smile that touched his lips carried no warmth whatsoever. It was the kind of smile that preceded ruin. "You wanted Elena bedridden for the rest of her life, didn't you?"

Dexter's face was the color of ash. His lips shook uncontrollably, and no sound came out no matter how desperately he tried to speak.

"Tomorrow morning," Elias said, his voice soft and pleasant as though discussing dinner plans, "I'd like Miss Sinclair to personally escort her brother to my doorstep. He will kneel, and in front of me, you will break both of his legs."

A wave of ice swept through everyone present, settling deep in their bones.