Chapter 10 - COLLATERAL DAMAGE
The Cuyahoga woods were silent, blanketed in a thick, early morning fog. Damien, Eleanor, and a small team of elite guards moved like shadows through the dense trees. Eleanor led the way, navigating by memory, following the twisted creek that bypassed the main road.
Through the mist, the outline of the decrepit hunting cabin appeared. There were three heavily armed men patrolling the perimeter.
Damien signaled his men. With terrifying efficiency, the guards were neutralized silently, dragged into the underbrush before they could even draw breath to shout.
Damien kicked in the front door, his weapon raised. Eleanor followed close behind.
The cabin was dark, smelling of damp wood and old smoke. In the center of the room, sitting in a rocking chair, was Volkov. He didn't look surprised. He looked tired.
"Orlov," Volkov rasped, not moving his hands from the armrests. "You brought the girl."
"I brought your end, Yuri," Damien said coldly.
"My end?" Volkov laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "My empire is gone. The feds have my men. You've already killed me, Damien. I just came here to wait for the devil to collect his due."
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked above them. Eleanor’s head snapped up. "The loft," she yelled.
A hidden sniper fired from the rafters. Damien threw himself toward Eleanor, tackling her to the ground as the bullet shattered the wooden table behind them. Viktor returned fire instantly, his rifle tearing through the wooden ceiling. A body crashed through the rotten planks, landing heavily on the floor.
Volkov used the distraction to lunge for a hidden shotgun under his chair. But Damien was faster. From the floor, without hesitating, he fired one shot.
Volkov froze, the shotgun slipping from his fingers. He stared at Damien, blood blooming on his chest, before collapsing backward.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the steady drip of rain outside.
Damien slowly got to his feet, pulling Eleanor up with him. He checked her for wounds, his hands frantic until he was sure she was unharmed.
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"It's over," he breathed, pulling her tightly against his chest.
Eleanor buried her face in his shoulder, the smell of cordite and his expensive cologne mixing together. The shadows of her father's past, the debts, the fear—it was all finally dead on the floor of a ruined cabin.
