CHAPTER 296: CHAPTER - 296

Chapter - 296

The standoff was a perfect, silent, adrenaline-soaked painting of mutual self-destruction.

In the ruined doorway of the Morningstar Motel, Room 114, stood Nadia. The woman who was Jemimah, who was Raven. She was a vision in tactical black, her face a mask of pale, cold fury, an SMG held with professional stillness. Her two goons, hired muscle who were suddenly and profoundly aware they were out of their league, flanked her, their own weapons trembling slightly as they aimed into the trashed room.

Inside, Rick and Sharon. Two bloody, exhausted figures. Sharon, her cop instincts screaming, had her pistol raised, but she didn’t know who to aim at. Rick, looking almost bored, was leaning against the wall, the black laptop held loosely in one hand.

The air was thick, unbreathable.

"Well, well, well..."

The voice from the parking lot was a slow, theatrical, sarcastic drawl. It was a voice that had never known a hard day’s work, a voice that was used to people jumping when it spoke. It was a voice that dripped with a chilling, decadent amusement.

"Look at this. My favorite little photographer."

Nadia’s blood ran cold. Her entire body went rigid. The cold, professional ’Raven’ facade didn’t just crack; it shattered. Her face went pale, a ghostly white under the flickering neon sign, her eyes widening in a dawning, absolute terror that was far more real than any act she’d ever put on. She knew that voice.

"You are so much harder to track down than I expected," the voice continued, savoring every, single, drawn-out word. "Did you really, really think you could play your little games with me and just... walk away... Nadia?"

Her two goons, sensing the shift in power, spun around, panicked, aiming their weapons into the darkness. "Who’s there? Show yourself!"

"Oh, put those away, you apes," the voice commanded. And then, he stepped into the light.

He was young, maybe 22 or 23, and impossibly, offensively clean. In this world of blood, grime, and desperation, he was a creature from another planet. He wore a pristine, navy blue, thousand-dollar suit that fit him like a second skin. His blond hair was perfectly coiffed, his face handsome in a way that screamed ’old money’ and ’inbred’. He was smiling, but it was a tight, reptilian smile that didn’t come close to his cold, dead eyes. This was Julian Croft.

He wasn’t alone. Flanking him, moving with the silent, fluid grace of panthers, were two new men. These were not street-level goons. These were ex-military, professional bodyguards, dressed in identical black suits, their faces impassive, their eyes constantly scanning. They held their weapons at a low-ready, but they were in a different league entirely.

The standoff had just become a three-way, clusterfuck.

Nadia’s men looked at Julian’s men. They looked at their cheap-looking pistols. They looked at the professionals’ high-end, suppressed carbines. Their loyalty was visibly evaporating.

Julian Croft ignored everyone but the woman who had ruined him. He walked slowly forward, stopping just outside the ruined doorway, his expensive leather shoes stepping disdainfully around a discarded beer can.

"Raven?" he said, his voice a soft, mocking purr. "Is that what you’re calling yourself now? How... dramatic. How very comic-book villain of you. I have to say, I preferred ’Jemimah’. No, wait, that wasn’t you, was it? That was the other one. The soft, weepy one. So hard to keep track of all your pretty faces, Nadia."

Nadia, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold the SMG, tried to regain her composure. She sneered, though it came out as more of a desperate grimace. "Julian. You look... well. I’m surprised you can show your face in public. Or did you just buy the public?"

The smile on Julian’s face tightened, just a fraction. He had hit a nerve.

"Oh, I’ve been busy, my dear," he said, stepping into the room, his bodyguards right behind him, their weapons now casually but firmly pointed at Nadia’s two men. The goons froze, their own guns lowering slightly. "You have no idea the trouble you’ve caused. Or the expense."

He fixed her with his cold, reptilian gaze. "My father... was not pleased. He used words I didn’t think he even knew. ’Pathetic.’ ’Careless.’ ’A disgrace to the family name.’ He said I was a liability. He... he cut my allowance."

He said this last part with such genuine, tragic horror that Rick actually let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. Julian’s eyes flicked to him, annoyed at the interruption.

"But the money was nothing, really," Julian continued, his focus snapping back to Nadia. "It was the laughter. The snickering. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into the yacht club, a place my family founded, and have people... snicker? People I’ve known my whole life? ’Heard you got tied up in some business, Julian.’ ’Working on your photography portfolio?’" His smile was gone. His face was a mask of pure, aristocratic rage. "You made me a joke."

Rick, who had been silently watching this upper-class soap opera, decided it was time to chime in. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry to interrupt, kids," he said, his voice casual. Everyone’s head—Julian’s, Nadia’s, Sharon’s, all the goons’—snapped to him. He was still leaning against the wall, holding the laptop. "But are you two finished? Because I’m on a deadline. My ’girlfriend’ here," he gestured at Nadia, "is going to be executed by her other boss if I don’t get this laptop back to... well, her. It’s all very confusing. And frankly, this is the single worst-run criminal conspiracy I’ve ever had the displeasure of being a part of. The communication is just terrible."

Julian Croft finally looked at Rick. "And who the hell are you?" he sneered. "The new arm candy? The help?"

"Nah," Rick said, patting the laptop. "I’m the guy who killed the last four idiots who tried to take this from me. Which, by the way, has some fascinating

files on it." He faked a thoughtful look. "’Project Nightingale’? Sounds... musical. What’s that, your dad’s secret smuggling route for exotic birds?"

"He’s bluffing," Nadia snapped, though a flicker of panic was in her eyes. "He can’t have decrypted it. He’s not that smart."

Rick just shrugged, a picture of nonchalance. "Doesn’t matter. I’m just the delivery boy. Speaking of, Julian... she played you good. Tied you to a chair? Gagged you?" He looked Julian up and down. "She must have used the serious leather cuffs, not the pink fuzzy ones, right? You seem like a ’serious leather’ kind of guy."

Julian’s mask of calm, aristocratic boredom cracked. His entire face went a deep, blotchy, furious red. "You... shut your mouth."

"Rick, for the love of God, stop talking!" Sharon hissed, her gun still wavering between all the new targets.

Nadia, seeing her opportunity, tried to regain control, to shift the balance of power. "Julian, darling," she said, her voice a poisonous purr. "This is just a misunderstanding. This ape," she gestuered at Rick, "doesn’t know what he’s doing. You’re not here for me. You’re here for him. He has your laptop."

Julian’s cold smile returned, this time more genuine. More cruel. "Oh, Nadia. Sweet, stupid, greedy Nadia. You really think I’m here for you? You think, after all this, I’m still here... for the laptop?"

He stepped fully into the room, his two bodyguards moving with him, effectively cutting off the exit. "The laptop is a toy. A messy, expensive toy. My father’s ’friends’ in customs have already handled the... ’discrepancies’... it might have revealed. The data was wiped remotely three days ago. It’s useless. It’s a brick."

Rick’s heart sank. The laptop was useless. The trade was off. The System Quest...

Julian looked at the laptop in Rick’s hand and actually sneered. "You’ve all been killing each other... for a fucking brick. No, no. I’m not here for the laptop."

Nadia’s face, which had been pale with terror, was now ashen. "Then... what...?"

"I’m here for you," Julian whispered, his voice full of a sick, twisted pleasure. "You took my reputation. You made me a joke. You can’t buy that back. You can’t erase it. But you can pay for it."

He had come all this way, not to retrieve his property, but to kill the woman who had humiliated him.

Everyone in the room processed this new, fatal piece of information. Nadia’s two goons took a half-step back, their loyalty to her, and her payday, completely gone.

Rick, in the corner, was the one to break the silence. "So... just to be clear," he said, a look of genuine, academic curiosity on his face. "This is a whole new level of petty. You

," he pointed to Julian, "want to kill her," he pointed to Nadia. "She," he pointed to Nadia, "wants this," he patted the now-useless laptop, "which you now say is a brick. And I... am supposed to give this brick... to her... so she can give it to Marnus Warner... in exchange for... herself... who you are now about to kill?"

He shook his head, a small, sad smirk on his face. "My God. This is a mess. I’m just going to keep it. Souvenir."

"Give me the girl," Julian said, his eyes now locked on Rick. "You and your bloody friend can walk out of here. I don’t care about you. I just want her."

"Don’t listen to him!" Nadia shrieked, her voice high and desperate. "He’ll kill all of you! Give me the laptop, Rick! It’s my only leverage with Warner! He’ll protect me!"

The room was a powder keg. Julian’s men had their carbines aimed directly at Nadia. Nadia’s two men had their pistols aimed, with trembling hands, at Julian. Sharon had her gun aimed somewhere in the middle, looking for a solution that didn’t exist.

And Rick was just standing there, holding a useless brick of a laptop, a smirk on his face. "This is hilarious. You are all so terrible at this."

Julian’s patience, his allowance, and his reputation had all run out. He’d had enough of the games. He gave a single, curt nod to his men. "Take her."

Nadia shrieked, a sound of pure terror, and raised her SMG. "Kill them all!"

Guns were raised. Shouts echoed in the tiny room. Chaos was about to erupt.

And then, from the parking lot, a new voice. Sarcastic, bored, and impossibly loud, amplified by a bullhorn.

"WOW. A B-GRADE ACTION MOVIE IN A C-GRADE MOTEL. HOW... ORIGINAL."

Every single person in the room froze.

"JULIAN, YOU SPOILED LITTLE SHIT. YOU LOOK EVEN STUPIDER IN PERSON. DAD’S MONEY CAN’T BUY YOU A CHIN, CAN IT?"

Julian, who had been about to give the kill order, spun around, his face a mask of pure, apoplectic rage. There was only one person in the world who dared to talk to him like that.

"AND NADIA," the voice continued, dripping with condescending amusement. "REALLY? A CATSUIT? SO... LAST YEAR."

"Who the hell is that?" Sharon whispered.

Rick was just grinning. "I think," he said, "that’s the guy who’s actually in charge."