Chapter 6 - The Queen's Gambit
Upstairs, Beatrice Sterling sat perfectly still in the dark.
She was sitting in a high-backed leather chair facing the heavy oak doors of her master bedroom. She wasn't holding a weapon. She was simply holding her cane, her posture regal and unyielding. She could hear the muffled thumps of suppressed gunfire echoing from the first floor, but her heart rate didn't elevate a single beat.
She heard heavy, hurried footsteps approaching down the hallway. It wasn't the measured, silent stride of Silas.
The heavy oak doors were violently kicked open, splintering off their hinges. Three mercenaries rushed into the room, sweeping their flashlights across the massive suite. The beams finally landed on Beatrice, sitting calmly in the center of the room.
"Don't move, lady!" the largest mercenary barked, aiming his rifle squarely at her chest. "Where is the vault key? Give it to us, and maybe we don't put a bullet in your head."
Beatrice didn't blink. "You are tracking mud onto a very expensive Persian rug. I suggest you leave before my head of security finds you."
The mercenary laughed, an ugly, grating sound. "Your head of security is currently bleeding out in the conservatory. Now, the key!"
"I believe you are mistaken," a voice whispered from the darkness of the hallway.
Before the mercenaries could turn, Silas entered the room like a localized hurricane. He didn't use his firearm; the risk of a ricochet hitting Beatrice was too high. He utilized sheer, overwhelming physical violence.
He grabbed the first mercenary by the back of his tactical vest, hoisted him into the air, and threw him entirely through the massive glass window of the bedroom, sending him plummeting three stories down into the churning ocean below.
The second mercenary swung his rifle around, but Silas ducked under the barrel, driving a knee into the man's ribs with enough force to shatter bone. As the man folded in pain, Silas delivered a brutal elbow to the base of his skull, knocking him unconscious instantly.
The third mercenary, terrified, dropped his weapon and pulled a combat knife, lunging wildly at Silas. Silas side-stepped the clumsy attack, grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it until the bone snapped, and slammed him face-first into the hardwood floor, planting a heavy combat boot directly on the man's spine.
The room fell dead silent, save for the howling wind whipping through the shattered window.
Silas looked up at Beatrice. "My apologies for the draft, Madam."
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"Quite alright, Silas," Beatrice said, standing up and smoothing her nightgown. "Though I do hope you intend to make the man who sent them pay for the damages to the conservatory."
"I intend to do much more than that," Silas growled, applying pressure to the mercenary beneath his boot. "Where is Kael?"
