Vivian wheeled Quinton forward, dressed in a loose white hospital gown that made him look every bit the delicate victim. He stepped around the chair and sighed at me, dripping with false sympathy.
"Mr. Dunn, why do you insist on making this harder than it needs to be?"
"Just hand my brother over to me. One small bone marrow procedure, that's all. I promise the Harding family will drop every charge."
"Surely you don't want your father, at his age, catching a bullet alongside you?"
The words had barely left his mouth when the courtyard's iron gates groaned open. Several officers shoved a familiar figure through.
It was my father. He must have gone downstairs while I wasn't looking. They had him pinned to the ground, faces pressed into concrete.
"Get off me! You spineless dogs, licking the boots of the rich!" Malcolm thrashed against them, but it was no use.
Quinton looked down at him from the wheelchair, then nudged my father's face with the toe of his shoe.
"Boss Dunn, times have changed. Money and power make the rules now. That street-thug code of yours? Take it to the gutter where it belongs."
"Go to hell!" Malcolm spat a mouthful of bloody foam.
Quinton's expression darkened. He raised his hand and slashed it through the air. "Beat him."
A cluster of bodyguards closed in and laid into my father with fists and boots.
"Stop!" I roared, lunging forward.
Click.
Three submachine gun barrels pressed against my temples simultaneously.
The lead mercenary spoke in stilted English. "Mr. Dunn. Don't move. Bullets don't have eyes."
Quinton watched me pinned down, his laughter wild and unhinged.
"Reginald! Thought you were tough, huh? Thought you could fight your way out of anything?"
"Go ahead. Hit me again. I dare you."
He struggled out of his wheelchair, limping toward me one agonizing step at a time, and raised his hand.
"That slap from earlier? I'm paying it back tenfold."
His hand came down hard.
But the slap never landed.
Because I caught his wrist mid-swing.
Quinton froze. The mercenaries instantly jammed their muzzles harder against my skull. "Let go! On your knees!"
The Harding bodyguards, the police, every single person surrounding us looked at me the same way. Like they were staring at a dead man.
In their eyes, I was a cornered ant about to be ground into nothing.
Power. Money. Firepower. Public opinion.