Chapter 9 - The Wrath of the King
When Jasmine opened her eyes, she was tied to a rusted iron chair in the center of an abandoned meatpacking plant on the banks of the Schuylkill River. The air was freezing, her breath forming thick white clouds in the dark space.
Standing before her was Nikolai Ivanov—the patriarch of the rival syndicate. He was an old, withered man with silver hair and eyes like dull stones, surrounded by ten heavily armed mercenaries.
"You are a very expensive waitress, Miss Carter," Nikolai said, his voice a harsh, gravelly rasp. "Jackson Ford has shut down three of my shipping hubs today because of you. He is tearing the city apart looking for this location. He doesn't care about his money, his docks, or his truce. He only wants you."
Jasmine, despite the throbbing pain in her ribs and head, lifted her chin, her gray-blue eyes burning with defiance. "Then you should probably start running, Nikolai. Because when he gets here, he isn't going to arrest you."
Nikolai laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "He won't get through that door alive. We have thirty men guarding the perimeter—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the heavy steel bay doors of the warehouse were completely obliterated inward by the force of a black armored SUV ramming through at sixty miles per hour.
The building shook as the vehicle crashed through the concrete pillars, its high-beam headlights blinding the mercenaries. The doors flew open, and Jackson Ford stepped out into the glare of the lights, holding a heavy tactical shotgun in one hand and a silver pistol in the other. He didn't wear a coat; his cashmere sweater was soaked in melted snow, his face an absolute, terrifying mask of demonic fury.
"Nikolai!" Jackson’s voice roared through the rafters, a sound so loud and lethal it didn't seem human. "You touched my house! You touched my woman! Today, the Ivanov line ends!"
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The warehouse erupted into a spectacular, chaotic symphony of violence. Jackson moved like a force of nature, a wraith of lead and steel, completely ignoring the bullets that sparked off the concrete around him. Dmitri and the Caruso tactical teams flooded through the breach, dismantling the mercenaries with military precision.
Nikolai tried to raise a pistol to Jasmine’s head, but Jackson was faster. He threw his empty shotgun aside, lunging across the space like a predatory panther, his large hands slamming Nikolai against the rusted iron pillars before the old man could even pull the trigger.
