The Exile's Wrath

CHAPTER 4: Broken Fingers

John moved faster than thought.

He closed the distance in a heartbeat. His hand clamped around Julian’s throat, lifting the heir of the Sterling empire off his feet.

"Ghhhk!" Julian gagged, his legs kicking uselessly in the air.

"You like to hurt women?" John asked softly. "You like to break things?"

John squeezed. Julian’s face turned purple.

"Stop!" Victor Sterling shouted from the floor below. "Release him! I will give you anything! Money! Power! Just let him go!"

John ignored the old man. He looked into Julian’s bulging eyes.

"Fifteen Years ago, you broke three of my ribs," John said. "Today, I’m calling in the debt with interest."

He threw Julian onto the stage floor. Before Julian could scramble away, John stomped on his right hand, the hand that had grabbed Elena.

CRUNCH.

Julian’s scream was inhuman. Every finger was shattered. "That’s for Elena," John said.

He kicked Julian in the ribs. Crack. "That’s for Martha."

He kicked him again. "That’s for the house."

Julian was curled into a ball, sobbing, broken, blood bubbling from his lip. He wasn't the arrogant prince anymore. He was a whimpering mess.

Below, the fight between Drax and Silas had ended. Silas was unconscious, embedded in the drywall of the ballroom. Drax stood dusting off his hands.

Victor Sterling stared at the scene, his face pale. His empire was crumbling in minutes. His guards were down. His son was broken. His enforcer was defeated.

"Who... who are you people?" Victor whispered.

John turned to the crowd. He put his arm around Elena, supporting her trembling frame.

"I am John Vance," he announced. "But the world knows me as The Wraith."

A murmur of recognition went through the crowd. Some of the wealthier guests, those who dealt in international arms and trade, went white.

"The Wraith?" one guest whispered. "The Commander of the Black Legion? The man who toppled the regime in Ostrov? He’s a warlord!"

"The Sterlings are finished," another muttered. "They picked a fight with a demon."

John looked down at Victor.

"This is just the beginning, Victor," John said. "I’m not just going to beat you. I’m going to dismantle everything you own. Brick by brick. Dollar by dollar."

He turned to Elena. "Let’s go."

They walked down the stairs. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. No one dared to stop them.

As they reached the exit, heavy footsteps echoed from the main entrance.

A new group of men entered. But these weren't private security. They wore dark blue tactical gear with federal insignias. The National Bureau of Investigation.

Leading them was a woman with sharp red hair and a badge on her belt. Inspector Lara Croft (no relation, but just as dangerous).

"Nobody move!" Lara shouted, drawing her weapon. "We have reports of a terrorist attack!"

She pointed her gun at John.

"John Vance," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Put your hands in the air. You’re under arrest for assault, battery, and domestic terrorism."

Victor Sterling, seeing a chance, shouted from the back. "Arrest him! He’s crazy! He tried to kill my son!"

John stopped. He looked at the gun, then at Lara.

"Inspector," John said calmly. "You might want to check your phone before you pull that trigger."

"What?" Lara frowned.

"Check your orders," John said.

Lara’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She hesitated, keeping the gun trained on him, and glanced at the screen. It was a message from the Director of National Intelligence.

Three words: STAND DOWN. IMMEDIATELY.

Lara froze. She looked at John with new fear. Who was this man that the Director himself would intervene instantly?

"Let them pass," Lara ordered her men, her voice shaking.

"But Inspector!" a rookie protested.

"I SAID LET THEM PASS!"

John nodded to her. "Smart choice."

He walked out of the hotel with Elena and Drax, leaving the ruins of the Sterling legacy behind him.

But as they stepped into the cool night air, Elena stopped. She pulled away from John.

"Elena?" John asked gently.

She looked at him, fear in her eyes. "You... you’re a warlord? You killed people, John?"

"I did what I had to do to survive," John said.

"And my father?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Did you know my father works for Victor Sterling now? He’s their accountant. If you destroy them... you destroy him too."

John froze. He didn't know that.

Before he could answer, a laser dot appeared on John’s chest.

From the roof of the building across the street, a sniper rifle cracked.

BANG.

The bullet wasn't meant for John.

At the last millisecond, John sensed the shift in the air. Decades of war had given him a sixth sense. He spun, grabbing Elena and pulling her into his chest, spinning them both around.

The bullet struck the concrete pillar where Elena’s head had been a second ago. Concrete chips sprayed John’s cheek.

"Sniper!" Drax roared.

He immediately deployed a Kevlar umbrella from his suit, shielding John and Elena while the Black Legion soldiers formed a human wall around them.

"Get to the car! Go! Go!" Drax shouted.

They shoved John and Elena into the back of the armored SUV. The tires screeched as the convoy peeled away, speeding down the wet streets of Ironhaven.

Inside the car, Elena was hyperventilating. "Someone tried to shoot me? Why? Why me?"

John held her tight. His eyes were scanning the rooftops through the bulletproof glass. "Not you. Me. Or maybe both of us."

He grabbed the radio. "Drax, report. Who was the shooter?"

"Heat signatures confirm one shooter, fleeing north," Drax’s voice crackled from the front seat. "Professional. Using a silenced .50 cal. That’s military grade."

John frowned. The Sterlings were thugs, but they hired brawlers like Silas. They didn't have professional assassins on speed dial. This was a third party.

"Someone else is playing," John muttered.

The car sped toward the safe house, a penthouse John had bought under a shell company.

As the adrenaline faded, the reality of the situation set in. Elena pulled away from him again, sitting on the far side of the leather seat.

"My father," she said again, her voice hard. "You didn't answer me. If you take down Victor, my father goes to prison. Or worse."

John looked at her. "Elena, your father chose his side. He works for monsters."

"He had no choice!" she snapped. "They threatened us! Just like they threatened Martha! He’s doing it to pay for my mother’s medical bills!"

John closed his eyes. It was never simple. Revenge was supposed to be clean, kill the bad guys, save the girl. But the roots of the Sterling corruption went deep.

"I won't hurt him if I don't have to," John promised. "But I won't stop until Victor is finished."

The car pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse. They were safe. For now.

John escorted Elena up to the top floor. It was a fortress of glass and steel overlooking the city.

"You can stay here," John said. "It's safe. I have to go."

"Go where?" Elena asked.

"To find out who pulled that trigger," John said.

He turned to leave, but his phone buzzed. An unknown number.

He answered it.

"Hello?"

A distorted voice spoke on the other end.

"Welcome back to Ironhaven, Number 7."

John’s blood ran cold.

Number 7.

That was his designation in the Pit, the illegal underground fighting ring where he had spent his first two years of exile. The place where he learned to kill. The place run by a syndicate far more dangerous than the Sterlings.

"Who is this?" John demanded.

"You made a mess tonight," the voice said. "Victor Sterling pays us a lot of protection money. You broke our toy."

"I’m coming for you next," John warned.

The voice laughed. "Come then. But check your pocket first. The left one."

The line went dead.

John frowned. He reached into his left jacket pocket. He felt a piece of paper. He hadn't put it there. Someone must have slipped it in during the chaos at the hotel. Maybe Finch? Or one of the waiters?

He pulled it out. It was a photograph.

It was a picture of a girl. She was young, maybe twenty. She had blonde hair and John’s eyes. She was tied to a chair in a dark room.

John stopped breathing.

It was his sister. Ivy.

He turned the photo over. On the back, written in red ink, were coordinates and a time.

Midnight. The Docks. Come alone, or she dies.

Drax walked into the room. "Commander? What is it?"

John crushed the photo in his fist. The energy radiating off him cracked the glass of the coffee table nearby.

"Change of plans," John growled. "Prepare the armory."

"Sir?"

John looked up, his eyes burning with a demon's rage.

"We’re going to war."