Chapter 127: The Lion's Return

Addicus groaned, ears ringing, vision a haze of smoke and flame. The bomb’s blast had torn through the building, leaving chaos—men screaming, burning, or silent in death. His limbs felt like jelly, but he clawed at the rubble, his mother’s dying words echoing: “They want what’s yours. Don’t let them have it. I love you, Addy.”

A figure loomed above. “Mother?” he rasped, hopeful.

Samantha Logan’s face grinned down, mocking. “Waiting for you, Addy,” she purred. “See you soon.”

“No,” he croaked, until the face shifted to Will’s.

“Sir, wake up!” Will urged, pulling him up. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Addicus lied, standing shakily. Corpses littered the floor—nine men gone, mangled or ash. Only he and Will remained.

“A trap,” Will said. “We weren’t meant to live.”

“She’s with them,” Addicus snarled. “They’re at the mansion—after Sharon.”

“We’ve got to stop them,” Will said, eyes wide.

The guards outside rushed in, weapons drawn. “Boss, what happened?” one asked, voice tight.

“Betrayal,” Addicus spat. “They’re at the house. Move!”

They piled into two cars, leaving the wrecked building behind. Addicus gripped a whiskey bottle, gulping to dull the pain, then lit a cigarette, the match flaring in the dark. “Faster, Will,” he growled, exhaling smoke. “No more games. Sharon, her husband—they die tonight.”

Will floored it, tires screaming, the city’s neon streaking past—a jukebox somewhere blaring Billie Jean. Addicus’s mind churned with vengeance, his empire threatened, his control slipping. Peter had outplayed him, but he’d pay in blood.

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Meanwhile, Chris crept through the mansion’s main door, silenced pistol ready. Jinx’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “Three guards ahead, left hall. Want me to drop ‘em?”

“Negative,” Chris whispered. “I’ve got this.” He hugged the shadows, the foyer’s chandelier glinting faintly. A guard turned the corner; Chris fired—a muted shot to the head. Two more fell before they could draw, bodies slumping silently.

“Path’s clear,” Chris radioed Peter. “Where are you?”

“Tunnels, with Sharon,” Peter replied. “Heading up.”

Chris moved deeper, checking rooms, his blind eye no hindrance in the dark. The mansion felt alive, walls whispering secrets. He reached the main hall, where stairs led to the tunnels. A guard appeared, but Jinx’s rifle cracked from outside, the bullet punching through plaster to drop him.

“Thanks,” Chris muttered, dragging the body aside.

Peter and Sharon emerged, hand in hand, her gun steady despite her trembling. “Chris,” Peter called, relief in his voice.

“Let’s move,” Chris said, leading them toward the front door. Freedom was steps away, the night air beckoning through cracked windows.