Chapter 19
The heavy iron gates of the west wing slowly swung open, groaning faintly against the howling wind. Richard’s mercenaries poured into the sprawling sculpture garden, taking cover behind towering marble angels and neatly trimmed hedges. The absolute lack of resistance sent a terrifying chill down the spine of the seasoned strike commander.
"This is too easy. There are no guards anywhere," the commander warned, his eyes scanning the pitch-black windows of the mansion.
"Keep moving! We have to capitalize on the blind spot!" Richard barked, too consumed by his bruised ego to recognize the glaring trap.
The moment all fifty Ashford men were securely inside the high stone walls of the garden, a deafening siren shattered the night. Blinding, high-intensity floodlights erupted from every corner of the estate, illuminating the garden with the intensity of the midday sun. The mercenaries were caught completely out in the open.
"It’s a trap! Fall back to the gate!" Richard screamed, panicking wildly.
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"The gates are deadlocked, sir!" a mercenary yelled in absolute terror.
Adrian stepped onto the second-floor balcony, a sleek assault rifle resting easily in his hands. "Welcome to hell, Richard," his voice boomed over the loudspeakers. "Open fire!" A devastating barrage of bullets rained down from the upper windows, tearing into the panicked Ashford forces without a single ounce of mercy.
