They hadn’t killed my son. They had stolen him. They beat my wife into a coma to induce labor so they could steal our child and sell him like a piece of furniture. It wasn’t just hate. It was profit. It was the ultimate betrayal of blood. The rage that filled me then was so pure, so white hot that my vision actually blurred.
I had to close my eyes and breathe for 10 seconds just to keep from screaming. My son is alive. He is in the basement. The mission parameters shifted instantly. Priority one, secure the asset, my son. Priority two, eliminate hostiles. I couldn’t just start killing. If a stray bullet went through the floor, if a fire started, I could hurt the boy.
I needed to be surgical. I moved around the house to the basement access. There were storm doors locked from the inside. I used a small pry bar to gently wedge the lock. It snapped with a dull pop. I slipped inside. The basement wasn’t a dark dungeon. It was a fully equipped medical facility. Victor had built a private clinic down here for off-the-books treatments for his criminal friends.
