No One Hurts My Daughter and Lives

Chapter 8

Aaron frowned at the knock. The sound was heavy, deliberate. Could it be Ghost Healer?

He rose and pulled the door open, only to find himself staring down half a dozen weapon barrels. Armed marshals filled the hallway, their boots planted wide, faces hidden behind tactical visors. The corridor reeked of boot polish and cold authority.

A broad-shouldered man stepped through the line, his black boots thudding against the worn carpet. He stood a full head taller than the others, and his jaw was set like he'd already decided the outcome of this encounter.

"You Aaron Holmes?"

"That's right. What's this about?"

The Deputy Commissioner didn't bother answering. He flipped open a badge wallet, letting the silver insignia catch the fluorescent light for one second before snapping it shut. "Take him."

On that command, the marshals surged forward, wrenched Aaron's arms behind his back, and cinched zip-ties tight around his wrists. They hauled him outside and shoved him into the back of an armored transport. The door slammed shut, sealing him in darkness that smelled of sweat and rust.

"Care to explain?" Aaron called toward the front seat.

The commissioner riding shotgun didn't turn his head. Didn't even twitch.

Aaron leaned back against the cold metal bench. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Interesting. Fine. I'll play along."

Being dragged off by some local official was beneath his concern. He'd walked into far worse traps and walked out with blood on his knuckles and not a scratch on his conscience.

The vehicle stopped at Haven Penitentiary.

The corridor stretched long and dim, lit by sickly fluorescent strips that buzzed and flickered overhead. Cells lined both sides, each door scarred with dents and scratches from years of desperate hands. The moment inmates spotted a new arrival, the block erupted. Fists hammered against steel doors. A massive man in a jumpsuit slammed his shoulder into his cell gate, and through the narrow slot, a thick arm shot out, banging against the iron with rhythmic fury.

"Hey, brother," one of the escorting marshals muttered behind Aaron with genuine pity. "Tough break."

The other commissioner shot him a glare that said shut your mouth.

"Let me out! Let me out!" Screams overlapped from every direction, bouncing off concrete walls until the words lost meaning.

This was Haven City's maximum-security wing, reserved for murderers and men society had already forgotten. And Aaron Holmes had apparently been added to their ranks.

They marched him past dozens of cells until they stopped before one with a placard bolted to the door: MURDERER.

Aaron's eyes narrowed. Since when had he become a murderer?

"Get in. What are you waiting for?"

A sudden heat flared through his chest. Someone had orchestrated this. Someone had specifically targeted him, and they'd done it with the full weight of the law behind them.

Aaron drove his heel into the nearest commissioner's knee. The man crumpled with a strangled cry. Before the second could react, Aaron flexed his wrists apart. The metal cuffs groaned, then shattered like cheap glass. His fist connected with the second commissioner's jaw, and both men hit the ground within a single breath.

Aaron rolled his wrists, feeling the blood flow return. Behind him, inmates roared approval, hammering their doors like war drums. He turned and walked calmly down the corridor, his silhouette disappearing into the dim light.

Seconds later, the office door at the end of the administrative wing exploded inward off its hinges. The desk shuddered violently, and a teacup slid to the edge, water sloshing over scattered paperwork.

The Deputy Commissioner shot to his feet, chair clattering behind him. "Who dares barge in here?"

Aaron stepped through the ruined doorframe, utterly composed. The Deputy Commissioner's teeth ground together. "You!" This man had just been locked in the high-security block. How was he standing here now?

Marshals flooded in from behind Aaron, surrounding him with weapons raised.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Deputy Commissioner demanded.

Aaron let out a low laugh. "That's my line." His voice dropped to something cold and absolute, and the armed men around him hesitated. "You've got some nerve."

The Deputy Commissioner slammed his palm on the desk. "Seize him!"

The marshals moved in. But before anyone could secure him, a new voice cut through the chaos.

"Enough."

The Commissioner of Haven City entered, his stride unhurried but carrying an authority that silenced the room instantly. Aaron turned, and their eyes met.

The Commissioner's mind went blank. His heartbeat lurched against his ribs. The man his deputy had thrown into a cell like a common criminal was Mr. Holmes. The nation's greatest soldier. The man who had held the border when no one else could.

His face drained of color. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground with a resonant thud.

"Sir, forgive me. I've failed to protect you."

Every commissioner in the room froze. Aaron Holmes was Mr. Holmes.

"All of you, surround them!" the Commissioner roared, his voice cracking with fury and shame.

Marshals poured through the doorway and encircled the Deputy Commissioner and every man who had laid hands on Aaron. The circle parted, and Aaron walked through as though stepping out of a cage made of paper.

The Deputy Commissioner's face turned ashen. He had arrested the wrong man. Worse, he had tried to brand Mr. Holmes a murderer.

"On your feet," Aaron said to the Commissioner.

The Commissioner rose, then turned a murderous glare on his deputy.

The Deputy Commissioner sank to his knees, forehead striking the floor. "Sir, I didn't know. Please, forgive me."

"Forgive you." Aaron's hand came down on the desk. The teacup launched into the air. He caught it and hurled the water into the Deputy Commissioner's face.

The man flinched violently, then pressed his forehead to the floor again, kowtowing in frantic repetition.

Aaron closed his fingers around the teacup. The porcelain cracked, crumbled, then collapsed into powder. He opened his palm and let the dust cascade to the floor like sand through an hourglass.

"It was the Tyler family!" the Deputy Commissioner blurted, his composure shattering completely. "Ethan Tyler ordered this! It has nothing to do with me!"

"The Tylers?" Aaron's fist clenched. So they still hadn't learned.

The Commissioner surged forward. "You dared lay hands on Mr. Holmes! He is the man who saved this country! Without him, Rusteria would have fallen! To treat him this way is treason!"

His voice rose to a roar. "Take these traitors away. Execute them. And Ethan Tyler as well."

"Yes, sir!"

The marshals dragged the Deputy Commissioner out. The man's eyes were wide, brimming with bottomless regret.

The Commissioner knelt again. "This happened under my watch. I deserve death." He drew his sidearm and pressed it against his own temple.

"Stop." Aaron's voice was calm but absolute. "Stand up. This wasn't your fault."

The Commissioner pressed his forehead to the ground one final time. "Thank you, Sir." He rose, teeth clenched. "That Ethan Tyler dared insult you. The entire Tyler family should be wiped from this city. I'll drag every last one of them here myself."

Aaron raised a hand. "No need. Deal with Ethan if you want. But the Tylers, I'll handle personally."

Liv's suffering was not something that could be resolved by simply erasing the Tyler name overnight. There was a debt owed, and Aaron intended to collect it piece by piece.

"Go. And do not reveal my identity."

"Understood, Sir."

That afternoon, a column of armed marshals appeared at the gates of the Tyler family estate, jogging past the ornate entrance pillars in double file. Their boots struck the cobblestone in unison, the sound rolling across the manicured grounds like approaching thunder. At their head strode the Commissioner, a dark cloak over his shoulders, his expression carved from stone.

The commotion brought the Tylers spilling out of the main house, servants and family members alike gathering on the front steps with alarm in their eyes. The two groups faced each other across the courtyard.

Brad Tyler stepped forward, his usual air of superiority faltering for just a moment before he smoothed it back into place.

"To what do we owe the honor, Commissioner?"