Page 67 of The Sterling Acquisition

The fourth guard’s stun weapon caught Dante in the ribs, and he convulsed as electricity tore through his torso. His remaining rifle went flying, and he hit the floor hard, his body twitching uncontrollably.

Shit. Shit. This is not how this was supposed to go.

Through the haze of electrical aftershock, he could see the second guard getting back to his feet, blood streaming from his scalp. Thefourth guard was advancing with his stun weapon raised, confident in his advantage.

Use the environment. Use everything.

Dante rolled behind the couch, his left arm still mostly numb but starting to respond. His right hand found the lamp on the end table—heavy ceramic base, long cord. He ripped it free from the wall and hurled it at the fourth guard’s face.

The lamp shattered against the man’s skull, sending him reeling backward. Dante used the distraction to grab his fallen rifle and surge to his feet.

The second guard was closing fast, his stun weapon sparking. Dante feinted left, then drove the rifle butt into the man’s solar plexus. The guard doubled over, gasping, and Dante brought the weapon down on the back of his skull with brutal force.

Two down. Two to go.

The fourth guard was wiping blood from his eyes, his stun weapon wavering. Behind him, the first guard was stirring, trying to get back to his feet despite the head wound.

They’re tougher than corporate security should be. Morrison brought professionals.

The fourth guard lunged forward, his stun weapon aimed at Dante’s chest. Dante caught his wrist, twisting hard enough to hear bones crack. The guard screamed, dropping his weapon, and Dante drove his knee into the man’s face.

Blood exploded from the guard’s nose, and he went down in a heap, unconscious or dead.

Three down.

The first guard was back on his feet, swaying but determined. Blood covered half his face, and his stun weapon sparked erratically—damaged but still functional. He advanced slowly, professional enough to be cautious after watching three colleagues go down.

Smart. Dangerous. But not smart enough.

Dante grabbed the weapon just below the prongs and yanked hard, pulling the man off balance, then closed distance with the rifle raised.

The guard blocked with his forearm, the rifle stock cracking against bone. He grunted in pain but managed to drive his elbow into Dante’s ribs. Dante felt something crack—not broken, but definitely bruised.

He’s trained. Military background, probably. This is taking too long.

They grappled, both trying to control the other’s weapon. The guard was strong, desperate, fighting for his life. Dante was faster, better trained, but the electrical shocks left him partially disabled.

End this. Now.

Dante dropped the rifle, surprising the guard, and drove his palm up into the man’s nose. Cartilage crunched, blood sprayed, and the guard’s head snapped back. Before he could recover, Dante grabbed his throat and squeezed.

The guard clawed at his hands, his face turning red, then purple. Dante held on until the struggles stopped, until the body went limp.

Four down.

The apartment was quiet except for Orion’s labored breathing and Dante’s own ragged gasps. His left arm was starting to work again, pins and needles shooting through the nerves. His ribs ached where the guard elbowed him.

That was harder than it should have been. Morrison brought quality people.

“You’re late,” Orion said, his voice hoarse from being choked. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“Never,” Dante replied, his voice carrying more emotion than he intended. “Are you injured?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.” Orion’s eyes were bright with fever and adrenaline. “But Morrison—”

Dr. Morrison was still holding the syringe, his clinical mask slipping to reveal panic underneath. “You don’t understand. This procedure—”

“Will destroy him,” Dante interrupted, his voice flat and cold. “Which is unacceptable.”