Chapter 18: The Hunt
Teterboro Private Airport was shrouded in a thick, rolling fog.
Silas Thorne sat in the leather captain’s chair of his Gulfstream G650, sipping a glass of twenty-year-old Macallan. He checked his diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch. The power grid in Manhattan was still down. Emergency scanners were reporting a jumper at the Thorne building.
It was done. Marcus was broken. Khloe was dead. The Thorne empire was finally his for the taking.
“Sir, we have a problem,” the pilot said, emerging from the cockpit with a pale face. “The tower just revoked our clearance for takeoff. The runway lights have been shut off.”
Silas frowned, setting his glass down. “Bribe them. Double whatever you usually pay.”
“It’s not the tower, Mr. Thorne,” the pilot stammered. “There’s… something on the runway.”
Silas stood up and walked to the oval window.
Emerging from the thick fog, bathed in the blinding glare of high-beam tactical lights, were four matte-black SUVs. They fanned out, completely blocking the Gulfstream’s path. Above them, the deafening chop of two tactical helicopters cut through the night air, hovering directly over the jet, their spotlights pinning the aircraft to the tarmac like a bug under a microscope.
Silas’s blood ran cold.
The cabin door was violently breached from the outside. The hydraulic staircase deployed, and heavy footsteps echoed up the metal steps.
Marcus Thorne stepped onto the plane.
He looked like a man who had walked through hell. His clothes were ruined, his knuckles were bleeding, and his eyes were black with a murderous, unyielding fury. Behind him stood Miller and a dozen heavily armed private contractors, their rifles raised and leveled directly at Silas’s chest.
“Hello, Silas,” Marcus said quietly, the silence in the cabin stretching tighter than a piano wire.
Silas forced a smirk, though his heart hammered against his ribs. “Marcus. I see you survived the evening. A shame about your wife, though. Tragic accident.”
Marcus didn’t blink. He didn't scream. He simply walked forward, closing the distance between them until he was inches from his half-brother’s face.
“My wife is alive,” Marcus said softly. “She is safe. And she is the reason you are standing on a grounded plane with absolutely nothing.”
Silas scoffed, adjusting his bespoke suit jacket. “Nothing? You’re emotional, Marcus. I have fifty million dollars in offshore accounts, and an army of associates in Europe waiting for my return. You can’t kill me here. The FAA is watching. You’ll spend the rest of your life in federal prison.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Silas,” Marcus said, a terrifying, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to do something much worse. I’m going to give you exactly what you asked for.”
Marcus snapped his fingers. Miller stepped forward and handed Marcus an encrypted tablet. Marcus tapped the screen and held it up for Silas to see.
It was a live feed of the very plane they were standing on. But the camera angle was from the tarmac, showing the SUVs blocking the runway.
“You see, Silas, Khloe didn't just freeze your accounts,” Marcus explained, his voice smooth and deadly. “She forwarded your entire financial ledger to your European associates. The ones you’ve been skimming off for the last five years.”
Silas’s smug expression finally cracked. His eyes darted to the SUVs outside.
The doors of the black vehicles opened. They weren't Marcus’s security team. They were men in tailored suits, holding suppressed weapons. Russian, Italian, and Chechen syndicate bosses—the most dangerous men in Europe, all of whom Silas had stolen from to fund his little revenge tour.
“They were very upset to learn how you funded your trip to New York,” Marcus whispered, leaning in so only Silas could hear. “I simply offered them my private runway to handle their internal dispute.”
Silas’s face drained of all color. Panic, raw and unadulterated, seized his throat. “Marcus… you can’t do this. We’re blood. We’re brothers.”
May you like
Marcus looked at him, completely hollowed of any mercy.
“I don’t have a brother,” Marcus said. He turned his back on Silas and walked toward the exit. “Enjoy your flight.”
