Chapter 8 - The Shadow Of The Regiment
Through the swirling white smoke stepped Caleb, his broad frame filling the doorway, flanked by Marcus and three armed veterans.
Julian scrambled behind his chair, his face turning pale as paper as he recognized the desert combat boots and the military posture.
"Caleb?" Evelyn gasped, her voice trembling as she clutched her pearl necklace with shaking fingers. "You're... you're alive?"
Caleb walked across the dining room with slow, deliberate steps, the heavy heels of his boots echoing like gunshots against the marble floor.
He stopped two feet from the table, looking down at his mother with an expression so cold it seemed to freeze the air in the room.
"You told my wife I was dead, Evelyn," Caleb spoke, his voice carrying a quiet, terrifying resonance that made the remaining club staff freeze.
"You stood in my home while your partner put his hands on my wife."
Julian tried to pull a small silver smartphone from his suit jacket pocket to call his personal security team.
Before his fingers could touch the screen, Marcus stepped forward, grabbed Julian’s wrist, and twisted it downward with brutal leverage.
Julian let out a high-pitched scream of agonizing pain as he was forced down onto his knees against the carpet.
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"Look at me, Julian," Caleb commanded, stepping closer until his combat boots were inches from Julian's face.
"You have thirty seconds to explain why my wife has broken ribs and dark purple bruises on her shoulders."
