Chapter 10
CHAPTER X: BLOODLINE
The deafening thump-thump-thump of the helicopter’s rotor blades whipped the ocean spray into a blinding mist. High-intensity spotlights pinned Jonathan and Emily in a circle of harsh, white glare against the slick concrete of the docks.
From the shadows beyond the shipping containers, a dozen laser sights flickered to life—crimson dots dancing across Jonathan’s chest and Emily’s trembling silhouette.
Jonathan didn't hesitate. He thrust his body fully in front of Emily, his gun raised at the blinding sky, shielding her and their unborn child with his own frame.
"Stay behind me," Jonathan growled over the roaring wind, his voice raw.
"They aren't here for the money, Jonathan!" Emily screamed back, wrapping one arm tightly around his waist while clutching the briefcase with her other. "If they get these drives, they wipe our identities from existence. We become ghosts!"
The side door of the low-hovering chopper slid open. A figure stepped out onto the landing skid, illuminated by the cockpit glare. He wore a heavy wool coat, unaffected by the gale-force winds, carrying an ivory-handled cane.
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed into slits. The breath hitched in his throat.
It was Samuel.
Samuel—his most trusted advisor, the man who had stood beside him at Moonstone Estate just hours ago, the man who had loaded his magazines in the SUV.
"Samuel?" Jonathan’s voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the storm.
Samuel looked down at them with a look of tired, cold pity. He raised a radio to his lips, his voice broadcast loudly over the chopper's external speakers.
"I served your father for twenty years, Jonathan," Samuel called down smoothly. "And I served you for five. But you were always too emotional. Too driven by pride. You thought Marcus Vance was your enemy? Marcus was just a puppet. The Syndicate runs this city, and the Mercer line has outlived its usefulness."
"You sold us out," Jonathan snarled, his thumb slipping the safety off his weapon.
"I didn't sell anything. I simply collected my retirement," Samuel replied coldly. "Hand over the briefcase, Emily. Do it, and I’ll let you raise that child in exile. Refuse... and you both die on these docks tonight."
Emily leaned into Jonathan's back, her lips brushing his ear amidst the rain.
"The briefcase is rigged," she whispered rapidly, her tactical training surfacing with terrifying precision. "It’s not just a drive. It’s a proximity EMP. On my mark... shoot out the spotlight."
Jonathan’s grip tightened on his weapon. In the span of a single heartbeat, the anger, the confusion, and the lingering betrayal evaporated, replaced by the lethal sync of two people bound by blood and survival.
"Do you trust me?" Jonathan asked quietly.
Emily squeezed his waist, her tear-stained eyes locking onto his side-profile with absolute certainty.
"With my life," she whispered. "Now!"
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Emily slammed a red switch on the briefcase and hurled it straight up toward the hovering chopper.
Jonathan raised his gun, fired two precision shots into the overhead spotlight, shattering it into darkness—and then swung his barrel toward the airborne briefcase, pulling the trigger just as the EMP detonated.
