Chapter 2 2

Marcus Grimes scrambled onto the stage. He grabbed Chelsea's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. He was screaming into a radio, calling for every armed man on the payroll.

Julian was writhing in the pile of broken glass. A shard had sliced his cheek. Blood mixed with the champagne, turning his white shirt a ruin of pink and red. He tried to inhale, but his ribs were likely cracked.

Gideon stood still. He was an island of calm in a sea of hysteria.

Ten more security guards poured into the room. They formed a semi-circle, batons out, hands hovering near concealed holsters.

"You son of a bitch," Marcus yelled, spitting down from the stage. "You're nothing but a dog for a dead man! Erich House is dead! His contracts are ash!"

The name Erich House rippled through the older guests. The Alchemist. The man who knew too much.

Chelsea found her voice. It was a shriek. "Gideon! Get out! You're insane! I don't owe you anything!"

Gideon smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf looking at a trapped rabbit.

He reached out to a passing waiter's tray. The waiter froze, terrified. Gideon took a bottle of 1982 Petrus. Unopened.

The security guards tensed. Red laser dots appeared on Gideon's chest. Tasers.

Gideon ignored them. He ran his thumb over the foil of the bottle neck.

"Marcus," Gideon said. "The contract demands a blood oath. You want to deny the paper? Fine. We pay with the body."

Gasper Davidson appeared on the balcony above. He was a small man with eyes like shark glass. He looked down at his bleeding son.

"Kill him," Gasper said. His voice was flat. "Break his arms and legs. Dump him in the Hudson."

The guards charged. It was a wall of muscle and rubber batons.

Gideon smashed the wine bottle against a marble pillar.

Glass flew. Dark red wine splattered across the floor like arterial spray. Gideon held the jagged neck of the bottle in his hand. It was a crude shank, sharp as a scalpel.

He moved.

He didn't fight them. He dissected them.

The first guard swung a baton. Gideon ducked, slashing the bottle neck across the man's wrist. The radial artery opened. The man dropped the baton, clutching his arm, blood spurting between his fingers.

The second guard tried to tackle him. Gideon sidestepped and drove the glass into the man's shoulder, twisting it.

Screams filled the ballroom. It wasn't a fight. It was a butchery.

Gideon moved through them like smoke. Slash. Duck. Kick. Slash.

Thirty seconds. That was all it took.

Eight men were on the floor. None were dead, but all were bleeding. They clutched wrists, thighs, and shoulders. The carpet was soaking up the blood.

Gideon didn't have a drop on him.

He walked toward the stage.

Marcus backed up. He hit the table behind him, knocking over a vase.

"Stay back!" Marcus screamed.

Gideon vaulted onto the stage. He grabbed Marcus by the throat and slammed him against the backdrop. He brought the jagged glass bottle up to Marcus's neck. The sharp point pressed against the carotid artery. A single drop of blood welled up.

Chelsea screamed and lunged forward.

Gideon turned his head. His eyes stopped her cold.

"Don't," he said.

He turned back to Marcus. He leaned in, his lips brushing the older man's ear.

"This is your first warning," Gideon whispered. "Deny the debt again, and I take the interest."

Gasper Davidson was watching from the balcony. He realized his mistake. These weren't street thugs. This man was a weapon.

Gasper pulled out his phone. He dialed a number that didn't appear on phone bills.

"Send the Cleaners," Gasper said.

Gideon released Marcus. He tossed the bottle neck aside. It clattered on the wood.

He turned to look up at the balcony.

"Mr. Davidson," Gideon called out. "Is that all your budget allows? Cheap suits and glass jaws?"

Julian pulled himself up. He was shaking. He reached into his ruined jacket and pulled out a small, chrome pistol.

Gideon turned back.

Julian raised the gun. His hand was trembling violently.

"Die," Julian screamed.

The guests hit the floor. Women covered their heads. Men dove under tables.

Gideon stood there. He didn't flinch. He looked at the barrel of the gun like it was a toy.

Julian's finger tightened on the trigger.

The ballroom doors slammed open again.