Chapter 7
Inside the safe lay Ethan’s past—a dark matte-black tactical vest, custom combat knives, signal jammers, and two customized Sig Sauer P226 handguns.
Beside the firearms rested a thermal sniper rifle disassembled inside a customized hard case.
Ethan pulled off his burgundy red button-down shirt, throwing it onto the floor.
He strapped on the body armor, adjusting the side plates until they fit snugly against his chest.
He checked the action on his sidearms, racking the slides and holstering them seamlessly at his hips.
For five years, he had tried to bury the lethal operative inside him.
Now, Marcus Vance and his vicious sons had dug him back up.
Ethan pulled a dark tactical hoodie over his armor, sliding a pair of black leather gloves onto his hands.
His phone buzzed on the desk—it was a text message from Detective Sarah Miller.
"Julian Vance is hosting a private victory party at his penthouse at the Aqua Tower right now. Stay away, Ethan. SWAT is preparing a warrant."
Ethan stared at the message, a cold expression washing over his face.
SWAT would take hours to get a judge's signature on a search warrant in Chicago, giving Julian plenty of time to destroy evidence and flee the country on his private jet.
Ethan deleted the message, smashed the burner phone under his boot, and stepped out into the freezing Chicago night.
Snow was falling heavily as Ethan got behind the wheel of his blacked-out Ford F-150 truck.
May you like
He started the engine, the V8 roaring to life in the quiet suburban street.
Tonight, the Vance family would learn that some men could never be bought, and some debts could only be paid in blood.
