The first wave.
Sixty enforcers of the High Table wiped out to the last man…
It didn't cause much of a stir.
In fact, to the High Table, it wasn't worth mentioning at all.
After all—
The Twelve Seats of the High Table each represent an ancient family. Every one of those families has branches, gangs, and forces in nearly every major city across the globe.
So how could this thousand–year–old organization possibly only deploy a mere sixty enforcers to New York?
In truth, that first wave had been nothing more than a probe.
At the same time—
Before the second wave of enforcers arrived, the Lighthouse Hotel was already being fortified under Alex Cross's command.
The underground training base, the 3rd, 6th, and 9th floors had been set up as temporary supply points.
Dozens of green–grade killers were sent to different floors, moving quickly to prepare.
At the hotel's shattered front entrance—ruined by the earlier blast—two assassins carefully re–rigged traps.
A transparent wire, stretched left and right, looped through the pins of two grenades.
The grenades were buried beneath piles of rubble on either side of the doorway.
Likewise, from the 1st floor to the 6th, random rooms were chosen on each level and fitted with trigger–based explosives.
And in the stairwells, beneath the corpses of the High Table enforcers from the first battle—
at blind corners and overlooked steps—
various mechanical traps were hidden.
About an hour later—
Ramsey spotted the second wave through surveillance.
More enforcers.
And with them, dozens of bounty hunters eager to gamble their lives for the open contract.
Four brand–new buses rolled up to the hotel entrance.
Beyond them, at the far edge of the cameras' reach, a dozen scattered cars and motorcycles arrived.
On those vehicles, shadowy figures were already checking and oiling their weapons.
But those hunters hesitated.
They wanted the High Table squads to go first, so they could pick off the scraps…
Or perhaps they were waiting, hoping the bounty would climb even higher.
Of course, the High Table didn't care about their petty thoughts.
The bus doors hissed open.
One hundred and twenty fully armed enforcers stepped down, equipped just like the first wave.
They quickly broke into formation—
twenty squads of six.
As always, the team nearest the front went ahead first.
At the doors, they paused, gazing at the mangled remains of the previous squad.
Every man there swallowed hard.
Then—
the leader waved forward.
The very first step he took—
Click.
Two sharp snaps underfoot.
BOOM! BOOM!
The grenades buried in the rubble detonated.
Stone, glass, and twisted metal shredded into high–velocity shrapnel, cutting in all directions.
That squad never even made it inside.
Those in front were torn apart instantly.
Those behind were left missing limbs, screaming in agony.
The watching bounty hunters jolted in shock.
Some turned pale, retreating from the area immediately.
But the nineteen remaining squads didn't flinch.
They dragged the critically wounded into the buses, then carried on.
Three squads veered off toward the underground parking entrance.
The other sixteen pushed through the main doors.
Just as before—
they split up once inside.
Three squads moved toward the parking garage.
Another three began sweeping the first floor.
The rest stormed the upper levels.
The three teams headed underground were lucky—
at least until they reached the basement stairwell.
There, they came upon the heavy door to the garage.
And in the center of that door—
a firehose nozzle fixed to a metal brace.
Before they could react—
WHOOSH!
A torrent of pressurized water blasted out!
The front line was knocked off their feet instantly, slammed to the ground.
The stream didn't slow—
it swept through the stairwell, toppling bodies and slamming them against walls.
In the confined space, it became a downpour, soaking everything, choking the fighters, leaving them gasping for air.
One squad lay sprawled on the ground.
Another staggered, dazed from the blow.
The third managed to hold their footing, but couldn't push forward through the flood.
Their only choice was to steady their breathing—
and try not to drown.
Then—
CH-CHK!
The sound of a shotgun chambering.
BOOM!
CH-CHK!
BOOM!
They couldn't even see who was shooting—
but screams echoed with every blast.
Through the spray stepped Fox, immaculate in her suit, calm as if nothing were amiss.
In her hands: a Kel-Tec KSG shotgun.
She advanced past the firehose, pumped the weapon, and fired point–blank at the nearest enforcer.
BOOM!
One down.
Pump. Aim.
BOOM!
Another body fell.
In mere moments, four or five lay dead at her feet.
Then Fox reloaded one last time, dropped two more, and slung the shotgun.
From her belt, she pulled two grenades.
She bit out the pins—
and tossed them into the chaos.
Without even glancing back, she turned and strolled out of the stairwell.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Twin explosions roared behind her.
When the smoke cleared, the stairwell beneath the firehose was nothing but blood and ruin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash
~> Bonus Chapter every 300PS!!