Chapter 8 - The Traitor’s Face
The betrayal cut deeper than any bullet. Marcus had been my right hand for fifteen years. He was the one who let the poisoner in. He was the one who orchestrated the estate attack.
“Take the girl and the boy!” Marcus ordered his mercenaries.
I fought like a cornered animal, but a ricochet caught me in the shoulder, spinning me to the ground. In the chaos, two massive men grabbed Emma, tearing her away from me. Another snatched Oliver.
“Preston!” Emma screamed, kicking and fighting as they dragged her toward the waiting vans. Oliver didn't scream; his eyes locked onto mine, wide with absolute terror.
“Marcus!” I roared, coughing blood onto the marble floor. “I’ll peel the flesh from your bones!”
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“Goodbye, Preston,” Marcus sneered, leaving me to bleed out as police sirens finally wailed in the distance.
But I didn't die. I was Preston Hale. And a monster had just been unchained.
