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One tall Surman agent stood with his back to me, an AR in his hand, and his buddy was similarly armed as he paced the hallway. I quickly closed the door before he took a sharp turn and spotted me.

I removed my shoes and grabbed two of the extra throwing knives that I had tucked in my thigh band for situations like this. Heart pounding, I timed their rotation, peeked out once again, and took precise aim, knowing very well I only had one chance as I threw.

A one-on-one fight with a Surman would be the death of me.

The blade swirled in the air and sliced perfectly through the side of his throat, and before he could comprehend what was going on, a tiny gurgle escaped his mouth, and he dropped cold on the floor. The other man, confused, rushed to his comrade, his trained eyes finally noticing me, but my blade was already on its way, killing him just the same as his friend.

One good thing about the Surmans was that they were never smart.

Not wasting another second there, I silently sneaked around the house and noticed a room on the second level that was heavily guarded. Instead of heading straight there like a fool, I recalled there being a balcony that shared a ledge with the room a floor above it. It was going to be risky, and if I fell, it would be to my death, but it was the safest choice.

Quietly taking care of three more Surman agents on the way, I opened the window on the third-floor room, and, very well, there was a balcony right underneath. Looping a rope around my hips, I maneuvered myself off the ledge and landed softly on the balcony floor.

Thankfully, it was locked and dark enough that the Surman agent stationed outside the balcony door, inside the room, didn’t notice me at all. He had his back to me, and I counted about five Surmans in total guarding the room. Out of those, the tallest one looked like their boss, with war paint and a mean expression on his face; he stood close to an older-looking man in a wheelchair.

Kenny Stormhold.

Although not identical, he shared some of Victor Stormhold’s features. I recalled Arkane telling me that the fire had fried his nerves, leaving him paralyzed on one half of his body. I found it rather interesting that fate had somehow put both brothers in wheelchairs.

Killian Glen looked pissed as he paced the room, while Heath Glen, on the other hand, looked calm, almost like he was enjoying the chaos outside as he casually smoked his cigar.

There were two other men I didn’t recognize, close to Killian’s age, standing by his side, alert and on guard. Their body language and the way they kept exchanging concerned looks with Killian told me they were here with him.

“I don’t like that we are sitting ducks like this,” Killian bit out, finally dropping himself down on a single armchair. He looked agitated yet weirdly cold at the same time.

“Patience, boy. Patience,” Kenny Stormhold brushed him off with a rather annoyed look. “Arkane Stormhold must learn that we will no longer abide by his rules.”

“I don’t think you know about that bastard enough, Dad.” Killian laughed his high-pitched laugh. “That fucker would’ve enough plans high up his ass. He doesn’t like to lose.”

“Sadly, this time, he will,” Heath Glen added with a grin, huffing out smoke with no care in the world.

“Shut the fuck up, Uncle,” Killian countered with a frustrated huff. “This is all because of you. Who the fuck asked you to kill a little boy for this fucker?” He glared at someone beside Heath Glen.

It was only then that I noticed Ian Smith cowering by Heath Glen’s feet and a familiar metal briefcase on his lap. My eyes widened in realization. Were they planning to use the Invictus tonight? Arkane would have no choice but to leave them unscathed if that were the case.

The boom of guns from outside the door was getting closer. Arkane was going to be here any minute now.

Killian was already cocking his gun in the air, a slight smirk ghosting his lips. His personality was so bizarre. Did he want to fight or not?

In the next minute, no one spoke a word. The five Surman agents had their guns raised, ready to shoot, and I took their distraction as a chance to get closer to the balcony door and pick open the lock. But I stayed outside, shivering as the cold winds started to seep into my bones. Although I shouldn’t complain, since I chose to wear a dress. But I’d much rather choose mobility over the comfort of the weather when in a fight.

A loud crash boomed through the room, and the Surmans charged, expecting men to storm inside, but only a sizzle swept through the air, and smoke clouded the entrance. And before the men could charge forward, high-pitched whooshes lasered through the air and hit four of the men point-blank between their eyes. Only their leader was able to dodge his death at the last minute, and that one second of diversion was enough for Mikhail to pounce on him. They broke into a full-blown brawl that I almost would’ve paused to admire if not for the situation. I must say, though, Mikhail was a magnificent fighter. He delivered lightning-fast counters to keep up with the Surman.

On the other side, Jon and Lucien had cornered Killian and his friends. Jon had his one gun on Killian’s head and the other on his friend. And Lucien trained both his guns at each one of his friends. Only the other men, too, reacted quickly enough and had their guns out as well. If they all decided to shoot, all five of them would die at the same time.

“Fuck.” Killian laughed, both his guns trained on Jon’s head. “I wanted the other one,” he said, licking his lips. “But you’ll do, little one.”

Jon grinned back but didn’t say a word.

Simon easily surrounded Heath Glen and Kenny Stormhold. Both remained too calm for someone who was going to die. And with Eric’s help, Mikhail was able to subdue the Surman leader and tie him up. He had a raging look on his face and said something in his own language to Mikhail, who brushed it off like it was nothing. Even though I didn’t understand what it was, it sounded like a menacing threat.

At last, Arkane walked in casually, a gun clasped in his hand. Except for a tiny tear in his right arm from possibly a bullet graze, the rest of the blood splatter on him wasn’t his own. He looked like a warrior whose goal was to simply kill and wasn’t bothered by anything at all.

“Kenny Stormhold, any last words?” he asked coolly.

A mocking laugh slipped out of Kenny despite his situation. “You think you can touch me, little boy?”

“Dad, why the fuck are we even talking to him?” Killian bit out, the gun in his left hand now pointing at Arkane’s face. “I say we kill him now.” He showed his teeth.