The Forgotten Heir Of Pendragon

Chapter 2

Adrian left the Sterling Group building with the envelope clutched in one hand and a scowl on his face. Isabella had promised to settle his sister’s hospital bills if he delivered it. That was all. No explanation, no details, just an address on the outskirts of the city and a warning not to open it.

“What does she take me for?” he muttered, heading for the bus stop. “Unpaid labor, and now I’m her errand boy. If it wasn’t for my sister…”

He almost turned around. Almost. The thought of his sister in that hospital bed was enough. He caught the bus and went.

The workshop sat at the end of a forgotten road—boarded shops, unfinished concrete shells, weeds everywhere. The sign above the gate was rusted and hanging crooked. Fresh tire tracks cut through the dirt near the entrance.

Adrian knocked. Silence. He shoved the gate open; it complained on its hinges.

Inside, the yard was cluttered with dead engines, car doors, and stacks of bald tires. One bare bulb glowed in the workshop. He stepped in.

“Hello? Delivery from Isabella Sterling.”

Silence.

He was about to leave when he noticed the workbench at the back. A framed photograph lay face-down beside a toolbox. An old leather jacket hung from a nail above it.

Before he could reach for the photo, a dark SUV rolled up outside. Two men in plain clothes got out. One spoke quietly into a phone. The other scanned the yard.

Adrian slipped behind a stack of tires.

“Find it?” the taller one asked as they entered.

“Not yet. The old man must’ve hidden it before he vanished. House was clean.”

“Search again. Boss wants that document tonight. If someone else gets to it first, we’re finished.”

Adrian’s stomach tightened. He slid the envelope inside his jacket and edged toward the side door.

His shoe clipped a loose metal bracket. It skittered across the concrete with a sharp clang.

Both men spun.

“Who’s there?”

He stayed frozen. The second man started toward the tires while the taller one blocked the main entrance.

“Come out. We know you’re in here.”

No choice. Adrian stepped into the open, hands raised.

“I’m just delivering an envelope. I don’t know anything about any document.”

“Who sent you?”

“Isabella Sterling.”

They exchanged a look.

“Hand it over,” the second man said.

“I was told to give it to the mechanic and get a receipt. No one else.”

The taller man grabbed his collar and hauled him forward. “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

Adrian tried to twist free. The fist caught him across the cheek. He stumbled into the workbench. The framed photograph crashed to the floor, glass shattering.

A middle-aged man stood beside a black luxury car, one hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy.

Even through the blur of pain, something about the boy’s face felt familiar.

The second man yanked the envelope from Adrian’s jacket and tore it open. His expression soured.

“It’s nothing. Just a delivery notice.”

The taller man turned on Adrian. “Where’s the real document?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. She only told me to bring the envelope.”

Another blow sent him hard against the edge of the workbench. The taller man snatched up a heavy metal tool and swung.

Pain exploded behind Adrian’s eyes. He hit the concrete.

“Idiot!” the second man snapped. “You were supposed to question him, not cave his skull in.”

“He fought back. Besides, he doesn’t know anything.”

The taller man crouched and checked his pulse. “Still breathing. We can’t leave him here. Dump him on the road. Make it look like an accident. No one will care about a guy like him.”

They started dragging him toward the side door when a phone rang. The taller man dropped Adrian’s arm and answered. His face changed as he listened.

“Police? Who the hell called them?”

While they argued, a deep, pulsing pain spread through Adrian’s skull. The workshop faded. A memory surfaced with brutal clarity.

He was a boy again, sitting in the back of a luxury car. Beside him sat a middle-aged man with blood on his sleeve and a pale, strained face. The man pressed a silver pendant into the boy’s hand.

“Listen to me,” he whispered. “Whatever happens tonight, keep this safe. You are the rightful heir, Adrian. Your father’s enemies have found us. They won’t stop until they get what they want.”

The boy’s voice cracked. “What about you? Are you coming?”

The man forced a thin smile and pulled him close. “I’ll find you. No matter what happens, remember who you are.”

A flash of light. Screeching tires. Metal screaming against metal. The man threw himself over the boy as the car spun.

The memory shattered. Another image flickered—the same silver pendant resting in a woman’s open palm—then a voice screaming his name.

Then everything went black.