Chapter 279
Lance
I hit the door with my shoulder. It flew open with a satisfying crack.
Felix jerked upright in bed, phone pressed to his ear, his voice pitched high with panic. "Dad, did you get them? Tell me you're close—tell me you almost have the car—"
He saw me.
The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might pass out on the spot.
The phone slipped from his fingers, bounced once on the sheets. Thomas's voice crackled through the speaker, sharp and urgent.
"Felix? Felix! Answer me, goddammit! We're closing in—two blocks behind the Audi, traffic's clearing, we'll have them in two minutes—son, can you hear me? Talk to me!"
I held up one finger to my lips. Smiled.
Felix's breath came in short, shallow gasps.
I nodded to Davis. "Door. Blinds. Now."
They moved like shadows. The lock clicked home. Blinds snapped shut. The room transformed into a sealed tomb—just me, Felix, two armed operators, and all those lovely machines keeping him alive.
I picked up the phone. Brought it to my ear.
"Hello, Thomas."
The line went dead silent. I could hear his breathing stop.
Then—
"Lance." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. Dangerous. Controlled. "Where. Are. You."
"You're chasing the wrong car." I kept my tone light. Conversational. Like we were discussing the weather. "That Audi you're so excited about? I'm not in it. Serena is—with two operators who've kept heads of state alive. And Vincent's driving. You know Vincent—the man who can lose a tail in Manhattan rush hour and make it look accidental. Right now he's making sure you stay just close enough to think you're winning. Quite the performance, really."
I watched Felix's eyes widen as understanding crashed over him.
"I'm in room 2113," I continued. "Metropolitan Grace Hospital. Private wing. Standing about three feet from your son, and I have to say, Thomas—he doesn't look good. All these tubes and wires. Seems like it would be so easy for something to just... disconnect."
"Don't." The word came out strangled. "Don't you fucking dare—"
"Thirty minutes." I cut through his rage like a knife. My voice went flat. Cold. "Wesley. Here. Alive. Walking through that door on his own two feet, not a scratch on him. You make that happen, we talk. You don't—"
I raised the pistol. Let Felix see it. Watched his pupils dilate.
"—your son's brains redecorate this very expensive wallpaper."
"That's impossible!" Thomas's control shattered. "I can't just—he's in the middle of a warzone, there are fifty armed men between him and—"
"Then I suggest you start making calls." I aimed the gun at Felix's head. "Because I'm not bluffing, and your clock is ticking."
"You won't do it." Thomas's voice turned vicious, grasping at anything. "You've spent your whole life trying to prove you're better than me, more moral, more—"
I pulled the trigger.
PFFT.
The suppressed round punched through the pillow six inches from Felix's skull. Feathers exploded into the air like snow.
Felix's scream was inhuman. Raw. The kind of sound that comes from pure animal terror.
"DAD!" He was sobbing now, snot running down his face. "FUCK—don't listen to him! Don't you dare give him what he wants! I'm already a fucking cripple, just—just kill them! Kill everyone! Burn it all down, I don't care anymore, I don't care—"
"STOP!" Thomas's roar came through the speaker. Then his voice cracked. Broke completely. "I surrender. You—you win. Lance, you win. Wesley will be there. Exactly how you want him. I swear to God, I swear on everything I have, just—"
His voice dissolved into something I'd never heard from Thomas Lawson in thirty years.
He was weeping.
"Please," he choked out. "Please don't kill my son. He's all I have. He's—I'll give you anything. Anything. Just don't—"
"Twenty-nine minutes." I looked at my watch. Let the silence stretch. "And Thomas? This isn't a negotiation. You don't get to bargain. You don't get to send intermediaries or cops or anyone else to 'talk this through.' You have one asset I want—Wesley, breathing. Everything else?"
I turned the gun on Felix again. Watched him flinch so hard he nearly fell out of bed.
"Everything else I'm taking. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long it takes. The only variable you control is whether your son sees sunrise."
I ended the call.
Felix stared at me, chest heaving. "You—you're fucking insane. You're insane. My father is going to—"
"Your father is going to do exactly what I told him." I sat on the edge of his bed. Felt him recoil. "Because for the first time in his miserable life, Thomas Lawson loves something more than he loves winning."
I raised the pistol again. This time I didn't fire.
I pressed the suppressor against Felix's temple. Let him feel the heat of the barrel, still warm from the last shot.
"Twenty-eight minutes," I said softly. "Pray Wesley's still alive. Pray your father can pull off a miracle. Because the second I see my nephew walk through that door breathing—"
I leaned in close enough that he could smell the gunpowder on my hands.
"—I won't need you anymore."