Chapter 3 - The Wrath of the King
Arthur Thorne sat in the opulent, sterile environment of his penthouse medical suite. A private doctor was carefully setting the shattered bones in his hand, wrapping it in a heavy cast. Thorne didn't flinch, though his jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth threatened to crack. The physical pain was nothing compared to the burning humiliation he had suffered in the gallery.
Standing at the foot of his leather medical chair was Silas, the commander of the Hounds. Silas was a mountain of scarred muscle, his face a roadmap of knife fights and shrapnel wounds.
"The local police have cordoned off the gallery," Silas reported, his voice a gravelly rumble. "They’re ruling it a random assault. But my men pulled the security footage before the cops got there. We ran facial recognition. It's a ghost profile. Military grade wipe."
"I don't care if he's a ghost," Thorne hissed, his eyes venomous. "He embarrassed me in front of the city's elite. And that accountant, Clara, has the ledger. If that drive reaches the feds, this entire empire burns."
"We'll find them," Silas said confidently. "They can't hide in this city. I have drones sweeping the grid, and I've put a two-million-dollar bounty on both of their heads. Every thug, hitman, and corrupt cop in the tri-state area is looking for them."
Thorne stood up, shoving the doctor aside. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the glittering expanse of the city he practically owned.
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"I don't just want them found," Thorne said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, dead calm. "I want them broken. I want that man to watch you tear the girl apart piece by piece, and then I want his head brought to me in a box. Burn down half the city if you have to. Just get me that drive."
Silas nodded, tapping his earpiece. "Understood. The hunt is on."
