Chapter 51
Raven
"Oh, don't mind me," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I read too many crime novels. You know, Jack Reacher, that sort of thing. I see conspiracies everywhere!"
I didn't wait for them to dissect that flimsy excuse. I leaned forward, invading the space between the front seats, my voice dropping the playful act for something sharper.
"But seriously, it does make me curious. Regular business profits don't usually require a car with reinforced doors, Uncle Ben. Or bulletproof glass." I leaned forward, my voice dropping the playful act for something sharper. "So, what exactly do you do? How did you really make your first fortune?"
Karen whipped her head around to Ben, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the leather seat. "Ben, she... how did she..."
"Quiet," Ben hissed, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.
"Oh! You're asking what sort of business we run?" She let out a brittle, high-pitched laugh, desperately trying to normalize the situation. "Well, darling, it's nothing so dramatic! It’s just... supply chain management. Logistics! Very dry, corporate stuff. Honestly, it would bore you to tears."
I widened my eyes in mock innocence, but I didn't let her off the hook.
"You misunderstand, Aunt Karen. I don't care what industry you're in. You could be selling cookies for all I care."
I leaned closer, locking eyes with Ben in the rearview mirror, my voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the engine noise.
"I'm asking what kind of business—and more importantly, what kind of enemies—require this level of security for a Sunday drive?" I tapped the reinforced leather of the seat. "Normal competitors sue you. Yours apparently try to shoot you."
Ben glanced at his wife’s floundering with growing irritation. Then, his eyes met mine in the mirror. There was no warmth there, but there was something else—calculation. A gambler deciding whether to fold or show his cards.
This was getting interesting. Everyone had secrets, though I doubted theirs could compete with being a reincarnated world-class assassin.
"Well, Raven," Ben said slowly, the tension in his jaw relaxing just a fraction. "I didn't expect you'd be so... perceptive."
He exhaled sharply, the decision made.
"Fine. I don't have anything to hide. It's just... we've kept this quiet for ten years. No one in the family has ever asked the right questions before."
I smiled, settling back into the butter-soft leather. "Well, now you have someone to confide in."
"Alright," Ben said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. "Today I'll tell you the truth about—"
The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons fire. The air filled with the rhythmic ta-ta-ta-ta of H&K MP5 submachine guns—German engineering at its finest. Seconds later, several deeper reports joined in—Desert Eagles, .50 caliber, if I wasn't mistaken. The car's bulletproof glass began to dimple inward like a constellation of shallow craters.
Ben and Karen moved with synchronized precision that told me everything I needed to know about their past. No hesitation, no screaming—just the fluid movements of people who'd been shot at before. They ducked below window level, bodies tense but controlled.
"Raven, get down!" Ben shouted, his voice clear and commanding—not the panicked yell of a civilian, but the practiced order of someone who'd given such commands before.
I remained upright, more interested in their reactions than in the bullets. Their voices weren't trembling with fear but instead carried the focused tension of professionals.
"Ben, is it them again?" Karen asked sharply.
"Who else? Those mad dogs." Ben gripped the wheel tighter. "I'm going to accelerate through their line."
As he floored the gas pedal, I heard the distinctive pop-hiss of the front tire blowing out. The Lamborghini swerved violently before Ben regained control.
"Damn it! Tire's gone. We need to abandon the vehicle," he growled. "There must be ten hostiles out there."
"Are you insane?" Karen snapped. "We won't make it ten feet!"
"Actually, there are nineteen," I said casually, examining my nails.
They both turned to stare at me, momentarily forgetting the gunfire peppering the car.
"What?" Karen blinked.
"Don't just guess, Raven! These are our enemies—the Scorpion Syndicate!" Ben's face was tight with tension as he reached under his seat and pulled out two handguns, passing one to Karen with the practiced ease of a longtime partner.
Scorpion Syndicate? Never heard of them. I had to suppress a laugh. Groups I'd never heard of were invariably third-rate operations—criminal organizations that couldn't even make it onto Phantom's radar. Just another boring night, then.
The car had stopped moving now, and Ben was scanning our options. "Karen, take Raven and head for the drainage ditch. I'll cover you."
Karen's eyes widened. "But—"
"Do you want us all to die?" Ben snarled. "Go!"
We abandoned the crippled Lamborghini, crouching behind it as bullets continued to rain down. The attackers were closing in from multiple angles now, their shadowy figures visible in my peripheral vision. I could identify each of them by the pattern of their footsteps alone—five from the north, seven from the east, another seven approaching from the southwest.
Karen grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Stay close to me!"
I allowed her to pull me along for approximately three seconds before I smoothly disengaged her fingers from my arm. The gunfire was intensifying, and I could tell from Ben's increasingly desperate covering shots that our position would be overrun in approximately forty seconds.
"This is getting tedious," I sighed.
Karen looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had—my past self certainly would have been terrified. But after facing down dictators, arms dealers, and black ops hit squads, a bunch of local thugs with questionable aim barely registered as a threat.
"Listen," I said, raising my voice just enough to be heard over the gunfire. "These nineteen men... that's quite a lot of bodies to dispose of. I need to get home early tonight. If I kill them all, can you handle the cleanup?"