Chapter 92 The Apex Summit
Chapter 92 The Apex Summit
The Vance Syndicate's peace was absolute and terrible for only nine days.
The underworld was completely paralyzed, and the earth was in perfect, submission.The world's underworld was completely paralyzed, and the earth was in perfect submission. No cartels dared to speak our name. Not a single hacker from the deep web dared to challenge our digital walls. The Vance bloodline was the only one with shadows.
However, apex predators are not known for being quiet.
My arms were crossed perfectly over my chest, and I was standing in the middle of the underground war room, wearing a custom-made dark silk shirt. Julian Vance, with his huge, muscled bulk leaning against the glowing tactical table, was standing beside me. The high-definition monitors were in the hands of the terrifying dictator of the underworld, who prided himself in his deep unhinged ferality.
It wasn't a raid by a cartel. We were viewing the live highly encrypted drone feed of the Vanguard Summit in Dubai.
It was the highest level of society, a multi-billion dollar meeting of the world's most influential next-generation elite in the glittering, glass-and-steel penthouse of the world's tallest skyscraper.
But the Vance heirs were just coming through the front door.
“Papa, the perimeter is all secure.” Our 15-year-old son spoke perfectly into the secure comms. He wasn't sitting in the Swiss war room. He was strolling along the red carpet, thousands of miles from home, in a stunning, custom-made dark suit. The eyes of his icy blue gaze swept the luxurious ballroom with a terrible calculating mind. I have already completely backdoored the central AI of the building, I own the grid.
"And I'm the owner of the floor," our daughter chimed in smoothly. She was dressed in a sleek, black, designer gown that allowed her to move by her brother without anyone being able to see her heavy custom combat blades. Her dark eyes gave off the alpha dominance of her father, unfiltered, and all the surrounding billionaire heirs stepped aside.
I whispered perfectly, my heart mending, "Show them the light, my Prince, little Queen.
His thumb was on my jaw, Julian's big, hot hand was wrapped around the back of my neck, possessively. They're coming into the light, Kaelen. The real world just doesn't know what they are up against.
The summit was an amazing sea of high-priced champagne and international sway on the monitors. The Vance Syndicate is not a diplomat, however. The twins didn't mix it up. They walked right to the very center of the VIP lounge, and they were arrogant, they were arrogant, they were arrogant, the whole gravity of the room was theirs.
In our dark, dirty world, however, power always brings forth a new type of parasite.
Then, my icy blue eyes narrowed, focused on some minute aberration in the tactical thermal feed.
“Julian,” I whispered, my voice now a deadly, icy zero. "Look at the airspace above the skyscraper."
Julian's perfect face turned hard as a rock – it was hideously hard. Three giant, stealthy, military covered gliders dropped out of the sky, unnoticed by any civilian aviation protocol in Dubai. They weren't underworld mercenaries. They walked like a very sophisticated and deep state Private Military Company.
"Prince!" Julian roared into the comms, his massive chest heaving with instant, unyielding alpha hellfire. You got a full military breach team coming right at you from the sky onto the penthouse roof! They are playing a game of cat and mouse with the radar!
Our son showed no fear in the glittering Dubai ballroom in a single microsecond.
He didn't panic. He just got his brain to be his weapon.
Our son replied, "I see them, Dad. He was not armed. He took his heavily encrypted tactical tablet from his tailored jacket. Let them break through the glass, I'm going to totally go blind.
The thick, reinforced glass penthouse ceiling violently and explosively broke.
Two dozen heavily armed PMC operatives made their way through the broken glass, holding high advanced, suppressed assault rifles, as they descended on fast-ropes. They believed that they were attacking a room of soft, scared billionaire teens. They didn't realize that they had just trapped themselves in a cage with the descendants of the dead.
“Go for the Vance twins!” the PMC commander bellowed.
Without giving a single shot, our son hit one devastating key on his tablet.
He took complete control of the smart glass system of the skyscraper. All the windows and light fixtures in the penthouse, one after another, were suddenly and violently strobed at a terrifying local frequency, in a blinding, supersonic flash. The PMC operatives used high-tech tactical visors, which instantly rendered them totally unable to see.
The room went into a complete and confusing state of chaos.
However, the heirs of Vance did not have to be blind to do an absolute slaughter.
But our daughter unleashed the monster!
She made a deep cut into her dark black designer dress and pulled out her twin combat blades. She was as agile as the ice, and as violent as the Fallen King, with a blinding speed and perfection.
Darkly, she declared herself to be the sword, over the comms.
She jumped perfectly over a broken crystal table and jumped straight into the blind, heavily armored PMC strike team. It was an absolutely brutal, near-to-the-chest piece of slaughter. She lowered herself down, sliding right under a desperate volley of suppressed gunfire. Like the roaring speed of my exact Olympic past, she spun around on her heel and her twin blades sliced through the exposed joints of the first two operatives' armor.
They fell to the marble floor, and the expensive champagne was ruined with their blood.
Our son didn't only hack the building, he danced along with his sister. He took out a sleek, custom-made tactical dagger from his suit, and completely redirected the kinetic energy of a large PMC luncher as it blindly charged into him. He took advantage of the man's own weight to fling him with force through the open window, hurling him thousands of feet into the Dubai night.
In the Swiss war room Julian Vance roared a huge, rumbling chest laugh, a deep, demonic laugh that resonated through the mountain.
“Untouchable,” Julian growled, his pitch-black eyes blazing with unchecked pride.
In precisely three minutes, the entire PMC strike team was systematically and totally wiped out.
The lights went out and the luxurious light of the penthouse returned. The remaining elite teens in the room were crouching behind the overturned tables, frozen in terror.
Our daughter was standing in the middle of the broken glass, the black of her gown unblemished, the red of her twin blades fresh. She was able to look directly into the lens of the overhead security camera, recalling who had engaged the deep state strike team.
We're the Vance bloodline," she said coldly, her pitch-black eyes holding the world in their gaze. “For the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof.”
Our son walked perfectly up to her, past the broken bodies of the PMC operatives. He glanced at his tablet, and his blue eyes, devoid of any mercy, seemed to pierce through it.
Papa," our son said, his bright mind breaking down the dead commander's encrypted communications. They're not a gang of criminals, they're a black-ops group backed by the intelligence services of the world's superpowers who are terrified of our monopoly and have formed a task force to wipe us out.
I raised my gaze to my husband in the underground Swiss war room. The excitement of the ultimate hunt was in full bloom in my veins. My repaired heart pounded a deadly beat.
"The governments of the world want to play in the dark?" I whispered perfectly, a stunning, razor sharp smile curling my lips.
Julian's jaw snapped shut with a crack, crushing the punishing steel. His huge body was a source of raw, unadulterated demonic hellfire, and he gripped the edge of the tactical table with a violent, overpowering grasp.
Then we're going to slay the deep state, Julian vowed, in a dark way. The Kings are returning to the board.