Damon stared at his father, his reality completely collapsing. “Dad?” Damon stammered. “Dad, what are you doing? He’s just a mechanic! He hit me!”
Marcus turned slowly toward his son. The look in the father’s eyes wasn't anger; it was the desperation of a man trying to stop an execution.
Marcus took three massive strides, grabbed Damon by the collar of his tailored suit, and delivered a devastating, open-handed slap across his jaw. The crack echoed louder than the wrench hitting my arm. Damon hit the ground, spitting blood, entirely stunned.
“You stupid, arrogant boy,” Marcus hissed, his voice shaking. “Do you know who you touched? The Omega protocol means there are no arrests, Damon. There are no trials. They wipe the bloodline. You brought a ghost down on our heads.”
Marcus turned back to me, dropping to his knees on the oil-stained concrete, his expensive pants soaking up the sludge.
“He didn't know, Commander,” Marcus pleaded, his hands open. “I swear to you on my life, he didn't know who you were. Tell me the price. Tell me how to balance this ledger. Please. Don't erase us.”
I looked down at the man begging at my feet, then at the trembling boy he had raised. The anger in my chest was cold and heavy. I glanced toward the McLaren. An operator had already opened the door, lifting little Leo out of the backseat. The boy was holding tightly to the soldier’s armored vest, staring at me with wide, awe-struck eyes.
The safety of the boy was all that mattered. But a lesson had to be etched into Marcus’s foundation, one they would never forget.
“The boy, Leo, is under my protection,” I said, my voice echoing in the sudden quiet as the helicopters began to gain altitude. “The docks. The warehouse. Whatever you’re running down there ends tonight. If I hear a whisper of your operation expanding near this town again, I won't use the radio. I’ll handle it myself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus breathed quickly, nodding frantically. “It’s done. We are gone.”
“And Marcus,” I said, looking down at Damon, who was weeping quietly on the asphalt. “He broke my arm.”
Marcus didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink. The survival of his entire empire was on the line.
Marcus signaled to two of his own massive enforcers—the same men who had pinned me. “The boy’s shoulders,” Marcus ordered, his voice dead of emotion. “Both of them. Now.”
“Dad, no! Please!” Damon screamed, scrambling backward on the wet pavement.
The enforcers grabbed him. The crack of popping joints and Damon’s agonizing shriek pierced the coastal fog, a brutal confirmation of the new natural order. Marcus didn't look away from me, confirming the debt was paid.
I turned my back on them and walked toward the operator holding Leo. I held out my good right arm. Leo scrambled over and wrapped his small, bruised arms tightly around my neck.
“Are you okay, Frank?” Leo whispered, burying his face in my neck as I carried him back into the safety of the garage.
I looked back at the foggy lot. The operators were already melting back into the shadows, the helicopters banking away over the Pacific, leaving nothing but broken streetlights and the whimpering of a humbled syndicate.
I tightened my grip on the boy, pulling the wool blanket around us both.
“I’m okay, Leo,” I said softly, stepping into the warmth of the shop and pulling the heavy metal door shut behind us. “Nobody is ever going to take you again.”
THE END