Without a mont’s hesitation, Xander pulled the trigger.
The gunshot rang out with a sharp crack, echoing through the hall like a thunderclap. The bullet ripped through the air and lodged itself in Mr. Wallace’s arm, making the older man stagger back with a strangled gasp. Blood spurted from the wound, staining his crisp suit as he clutched his arm, stunned by the betrayal.
His eyes locked with Xander’s—confused, betrayed, and filled with disbelief. "You—" he started, but couldn’t finish. The pain overtook him, twisting his face into a grimace.
Xander didn’t hesitate again. He raised the gun for a second shot, but one of Wallace’s henchn dove into the path of the bullet. The man grunted as the round tore through his chest. He collapsed to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"Xander, what the hell have you done?!" Bruce bellowed, stepping forward in disbelief.
Big mistake.
Before Bruce could react, Xander spun the gun toward him and fired. The bullet struck Bruce in the upper chest, dangerously close to his heart. He scread, stumbling back, his shirt soaking red in seconds.
Panic erupted among the guards. For a mont, they hesitated—Xander was still technically their boss’s son, and shooting him would an direct disobedience. But the mont didn’t last. One guard raised his weapon and fired. The bullet hit Xander in the thigh, and he cried out as he fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding across the polished floor.
"He’s bleeding out," one of the guards muttered. "But he’s not dead yet."
"We don’t have ti for this," another snapped. "Take Bruce and Wallace to the safehouse. Xavier’s already breached the periter. We won’t hold him off much longer."
Two n grabbed Bruce and Mr. Wallace, dragging them through a side exit. The hallway blurred into a flurry of motion—shouts, footsteps, blood trailing on the floor. Xander, barely conscious, watched through hazy vision as his enemies began to retreat.
But he wasn’t done.
Teeth gritted, he clawed his way toward the fallen gun, ignoring the pain that lanced through his leg. His fingers finally wrapped around the weapon’s grip, and he fired again. One shot. Then another.
Two more n dropped, blood pooling beneath them.
"Damn it!" one of the remaining guards roared. "Kill him already!"
"Don’t you dare shoot my son," Mr. Wallace warned through gritted teeth, still clutching his arm. But his voice had no weight now. His n were in survival mode.
"Take the bosses to the car. Leave us behind if you have to," the guard leader said. "Not all of us are making it out."
The guards obeyed, rushing out with their wounded leaders in tow.
One lingered behind.
"You should have just obeyed your father," the man hissed, stepping toward Xander, gun raised. "Or should I say your adoptive father?" He scoffed. "Funny. He gave you everything—and you still shot him."
Xander didn’t flinch, though he knew he couldn’t raise his weapon in ti. His strength was draining fast.
The guard aid. "Goodbye, Xander."
Then—boom.
A single shot, perfectly aid. A hole blood in the center of the guard’s chest, and he dropped like a ragdoll.
Xander blinked in confusion.
A familiar voice called his na.
He turned his head—and saw him. Kace.
The youngest Wallace son, his youngest brother.
"Kace?" Xander’s voice cracked, both from pain and disbelief.
Kace rushed to him. "Are you okay?" He asked, an edge in his tone.
Xander stared. He hadn’t seen his brother in nearly twenty years. Not since their father had kicked him out of the house like trash.
"I’m fine," Xander mumbled.
Kace’s gaze dropped to his blood-soaked leg. "No, you’re not."
More gunfire echoed in the distance. Shouts. Screams. The sound of bodies hitting the floor.
Xavier and his n were carving through what remained of Bruce and Mr. Wallace’s forces.
The secluded location of the estate—handpicked by Wallace to avoid spies—was now working against them. No one was around to hear the bloodshed. No one would interrupt.
The remaining guards, seeing they were abandoned, began to surrender. Others tried to run but were gunned down within seconds. It was a slaughter.
Inside the mansion, Xavier kicked down a door, gun drawn. His eyes scanned the room in seconds until they landed on her—Anastasia.
Her clothes were torn and bloodied, her hair ssy, and scratches marred her arms, but she was alive. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
"Xavier," she breathed, rushing into his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his heart pounding with relief. "You’re safe," he whispered, holding her more tightly.
"Your father is a maniac," she said against his chest.
"I know," he muttered.
Once he’d confird Anastasia was safe, Xavier switched to war mode. He ordered his n to search every escape route. No airport, no train, no border crossing would be left unguarded. Every possible exit point would be watched.
He got on the phone with federal contacts and ordered discreet surveillance on anyone connected to Bruce or Mr. Wallace. The dia was told that Thomas Wallace was missing—a clever lie to buy ti while the real manhunt began.
"They won’t get far," Kace said, wrapping a bandage tightly around Xander’s wounded leg. "Not if we get to them first."
Xander grunted. "Thanks, Kace."
Kace ignored him. Instead, he walked to Anastasia and hugged her tightly. "You were alive this whole ti and didn’t tell ?" he said, voice cracking.
"I wanted to surprise you," she said sheepishly.
"You suck at lying," Kace snapped, pulling back. "Don’t ever do that again." He warned.
Xander watched the exchange from the floor, his heart sinking deeper.
"Xavier," Xander called out, drawing the others’ attention. "Bruce and Wallace have hidden properties. I know where so of them are."
Xavier looked at him, a mix of skepticism and curiosity in his eyes. "I’m sure you do," he replied dryly. Then his tone shifted. "But before we do that, there’s sothing I need you to do first."
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