Ron Donaldo: Rise Of The Apex Don

Chapter 22

"Save me!" Marcus screamed into the phone. "I will give you the confession! I will go on live television right now! I will tell the world everything I did to you! Just please do not let them kill me!"

Ron was quiet for three heavy seconds. 

His struggle was burning in his mind. Part of him—the angry, broken man who lived in The Pit—wanted to hang up the phone. He wanted to sit back and watch the Director’s men shoot Marcus. He wanted Marcus to feel the ultimate pain. 

But Ron was not just an angry man anymore. He was the Apex. He was a Warlord with a plan. If Marcus died today, Ron would be blamed for everything. The FBI would never know the truth. Ron needed Marcus alive to tell the truth to the world. Ron needed justice, not just bloody revenge. 

"Get under your desk, Marcus," Ron commanded. "Do not move. Do not look up. Cover your ears."

"What? What are you going to do?" Marcus asked frantically. 

"I am coming up," Ron said. 

Click. The call ended. 

Marcus dropped the phone. He dove under the heavy glass desk. He curled into a tight ball, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. 

Outside the office, in the main hallway, the nightmare began. 

The heavy doors of the main elevator opened. Twelve men in dark gray tactical gear marched out. They wore black ski masks that covered their faces. They did not wear police badges. They were heavily armed ghosts. 

They moved with perfect, silent speed. The leader of the squad pointed his hand toward the boardroom. 

The two Sterling Tech security guards standing in the hallway raised their hands. "Hey! You cannot be up here!" one guard yelled. 

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. 

The sound of the silenced weapons was very quiet. It sounded like someone spitting air. 

The two security guards fell to the floor instantly. 

The squad leader kicked open the heavy oak doors of the boardroom. 

Inside, the Board of Directors was still yelling and arguing. Mr. Henderson was red in the face. When the doors crashed open, everyone froze. They looked at the twelve men with guns. 

"Nobody move," the squad leader said. His voice was muffled behind his black mask. "Get on the floor. Face down. Hands on the back of your heads."

Mrs. Lee screamed. She dropped her expensive purse. Diamonds spilled across the floor. "Take the jewelry!" she cried. "Take whatever you want! Just do not hurt us!"

"Get on the floor," the leader repeated, aiming his rifle right at her face. 

The rich, arrogant board members fell to their knees. They crawled on the floor like terrified bugs. They pressed their faces into the expensive carpet. Mr. Henderson was crying so hard he could not breathe. 

Theresa Sterling was at the back of the room. She was shaking. She slowly lowered herself to the ground. She knew who these men were. She knew The Director had sent them to clean up the mess. 

"Where is Marcus Thorne?" the squad leader asked loudly. 

Nobody answered. They were too scared to speak. 

The leader walked over to Mr. Henderson. He grabbed the fat man by his expensive collar and pulled him up. He pressed the hot barrel of the gun against Henderson's head. 

"I will ask one more time," the leader said coldly. "Where is Marcus Thorne?"

"His office!" Henderson screamed, pointing a shaking, fat finger toward the hallway. "He ran to his office! Please! Do not kill me! I have children!"

The leader dropped Henderson back to the floor. He pointed to four of his men. "You four, go to the CEO's office. Terminate the target. The rest of you, secure this room. We terminate the board in sixty seconds."

The four men nodded. They turned around and walked out of the boardroom toward Marcus’s office. 

Marcus was hiding under his desk. He heard the heavy boots coming closer. He heard the door to his office get kicked open. 

CRASH. 

The wooden door slammed against the wall. 

"Target is under the desk," a muffled voice said. 

Marcus closed his eyes. He prepared to die. 

But suddenly, the entire building shook. 

A deafening explosion echoed through the ninetieth floor. The huge, thick glass windows that lined the entire length of the hallway and the boardroom suddenly completely shattered. 

Millions of tiny pieces of glass blew into the room like a silver hurricane. The strong, cold wind from high above the city rushed inside, blowing papers, chairs, and expensive paintings everywhere. 

The Director's clean-up crew spun around, raising their weapons toward the broken windows. 

Before they could shoot, thick black ropes dropped down from the roof of the building outside. 

Dark shapes flew through the broken windows, swinging on the ropes. 

It was the Iron Legion. 

They wore their heavy black armor. They wore their black masks. And they were angry. 

General Silas Vance was the first one through the window. He swung on his thick rope and kicked a Director's soldier perfectly in the chest with his heavy combat boots. The soldier flew backward and crashed into the mahogany table. 

"For the King!" General Vance roared with his rough, terrifying voice. 

The boardroom turned into an absolute warzone. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The noise was incredible. The Iron Legion did not use silenced weapons. They used heavy, loud shotguns and large rifles. But they were strictly following Ron’s orders: Do not kill unless absolutely necessary. We are professionals.

The Iron Legion fired heavy rubber riot slugs and bean-bag rounds. 

Thwack! Thwack!

The heavy rubber slugs hit the Director's men like flying hammers. Two soldiers dropped their guns and fell to the floor, holding their broken ribs. 

The Director's men recovered quickly. They were highly trained killers. They started firing back with real, deadly bullets. 

Brrrrrrrrrrt! 

Real bullets chewed through the boardroom table. Wood splintered everywhere. The computer monitors exploded in sparks.