"Sorry, that's not for sale."
Alex Cross's expression didn't change. His tone went cool and clipped as he refused the offer outright.
He wasn't surprised anyone wanted to buy the training methods for his "Slaughter Warriors." The day he had paraded those ten armored fighters in front of the hotel, it had been obvious: the High Table and the great families would spare no expense to study, collect, or even buy the secret of how to field soldiers in full heavy armor.
He hadn't expected the X-tribe to be so eager, though.
Lena's smile didn't falter at his rejection. She only tilted her head and said, "Mr. Cross, our leader says… if you refuse, please pass along this message—"
"What message?" Alex cut in.
"The Lighthouse Organization is powerful, but it's newly recognized by the High Table… We're different. We crave the thrill of killing. We don't much care for the High Table's rules."
"Is that so?" Alex hummed softly. The atmosphere shifted. Anna, Fox, and Nikita reached for their sidearms in an instant.
Of the five who'd come with Lena, only Daniel Pine reacted in time—he fumbled out his weapon and readied it. The others were a beat slower. The two groups legalized their standoffs: a silent gesture, then both sides lowered their guns. The tension ebbed, but an edge remained.
Alex's smile returned. "Why don't you stay the night at the hotel," he offered. "I'll make sure you're treated like honored guests. Take the evening to think it over."
"We would be honored," Lena replied with a faint nod.
Alex waved to Susie. "Give them five deluxe single rooms. Make sure service is impeccable and security is tight."
"Understood, Mr. Cross." Susie led Lena and her escorts from the manager's office.
As the newcomers left, Alex's smile faded. He called, "Nikita!"
Nikita hurried forward. "Sir?"
"Tell the kitchen to spice up those five dinners—make sure they sleep well." Nikita bounded off to carry out the order.
Only then did Alex rise and refill his coffee. He sipped, frowned—"a bit cold"—and set the mug down. He dialed Black Kaiser's number.
The older, gravelly voice answered soon enough. "Mr. Cross. What are your orders?"
"Fly to Prague," Alex said. "Find a hidden, secure temporary warehouse that can hold fifty people."
"Understood." Black Kaiser was concise. The line went dead.
Alex turned to Fox. "Pick fifty of the sharper killers from the underground training base. When Kaiser reports back, send them to Prague in batches. On arrival they should contact Black Kaiser directly."
"Got it, Mr. Cross." Fox stood and left at once.
—
At the Lighthouse Club, Dwight kept busy with his own blunt routine: a mug of malt beer, a pistol within reach, breakfast finished. Raymond cradled an MP5K and stood at attention, eyes sweeping over Viggo and his son—both sprawled, broken—on the floor. Nearby sat familiar faces: Irene and Bruno. Around them stood four or five sharp-dressed, visibly nervous men.
Dwight finished his beer, wiped his mouth, and looked to Irene. "Ms. Irene, you may proceed."
"Of course, Mr. Manfredi." Irene rose, nodded politely, then walked to where Viggo and his son lay groaning. She addressed the gathered men: "You must understand how this came to pass. This is a warning from Mr. Cross—an opportunity as well."
She drew a fine dagger from her bag, stepped to Viggo, and plunged it into him. She did the same to his son. The sound of the blade was clinical, final. The captives screamed, begging and babbling.
"I want to see Mr. Cross! I know Baba Yaga! I can introduce him—" Viggo wailed.
No one paid him heed. Bruno stepped forward, took the dagger from Irene, and drove it into both Viggo and his son again, loudly forcing the point: "Now it's your turn. Decide. Swear allegiance to the Lighthouse and drive this knife into a traitor—stand with us. Or leave, and never return."
Silence pressed down. The room watched, waiting for a choice.
—
Alex's cold refusal, Lena's thin smile, and the staged brutality that followed made the terms clear: this world traded in muscle and fear, and Alex intended to set the rules on his own terms.
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If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash