Chapter 6

Black storm clouds pressed low over the Percham District.

Beneath them, narrow lanes packed tight with men in black jackets and trousers stretched into the distance, cold steel gripped in their hands.

Rain struck the blades, and each metallic ring sliced through the night like a warning.

"Shut the doors!"

"Turn off the lights!"

"Don't let them see you!"

Windows slammed one after another. The settlement fell silent. Everyone knew what was coming, and no one dared look outside.

In Silverton, Dargan's name alone could stop a child from crying. No one ignored his presence. No one defied him.

"Is that so?" Oscar unhurriedly stood in the shattered doorway. "I didn't know you had that kind of nerve."

His composure gave Dargan pause.

"Didn't Amara say this thing was kicked out of the Chamberlain family?" Dargan muttered, dragging a lackey closer.

"Yes, Mr. Wyrmwood. It's true. Miss Amara said he's no longer a Chamberlain," the man replied, his voice unsteady.

Dargan raised his voice. "You all heard it?"

A chorus answered at once.

"Yes, Mr. Wyrmwood! He's been expelled!"

Their unified shout rattled the rain-soaked air.

Inside the shack, George's family trembled.

George stumbled forward and dropped to his knees before he reached Dargan.

"Mr. Wyrmwood, this is our fault!" he cried. "Mr. Chamberlain— No, he has nothing to do with this. Punish us. Spare him!"

Helena and Rebecca followed, kneeling beside him. "We'll accept any punishment. Please let him go!"

Dargan's reputation crushed any thought of resistance.

Victor dragged himself across the ground and clutched Dargan's leg. "Mr. Wyrmwood, you have to avenge me! That bastard broke my legs! I can testify. He's been erased from the Chamberlain family. Miss Bella struck his name from the genealogy herself!"

"Get off me." Dargan kicked him aside. "It's a couple of broken bones. Stop whining."

He fixed his gaze on Oscar. "If you were still the Chamberlain heir, I'd swallow this loss."

He stepped closer. "But now you're nothing but a stray dog."

His voice turned icy. "Who gave you the courage?"

At his signal, the men in black advanced. Blades rose, and flashes of steel split the rain.

George crawled forward. "Mr. Wyrmwood, he's young. He doesn't understand—"

Oscar caught his arm and pulled him up.

"Mr. Miller, he's just a thug," Oscar said in a low voice. "I've already called law enforcement. He won't dare do anything."

George looked at him with deep regret. If these men feared the law, they would not have ruled Silverton's streets for years.

Dargan burst into laughter.

"Oh, young heir," he mocked, "it seems the Chamberlain family sheltered you too well."

He spread his arms wide. "I'm Dargan Wyrmwood. Who here dares to interfere? Who here can?"

Thunder cracked across the sky as if in answer.

"Silverton City still has rules," Oscar said steadily. "This city still has justice."

"Rules? Justice?" Dargan sneered. "I am the rule. I am justice."

He flicked his hand. "I'm done wasting time. Chop him up. Do whatever you want with the rest."

He stepped back and muttered, "I thought anyone who talked that big would be somebody. Turns out he's trash. No wonder the Chamberlain family dumped him. Once a fake, always a fake."

The word cut deep.

Fake?

Oscar's eyes burned red. He was no fake. Arthur had acknowledged him as his heir in his own will.

"You're asking for it."

The words fell cold and final.

In the next instant, Oscar stood before Dargan.

"You—" Dargan barely widened his eyes before Oscar's foot slammed into his chest.

A sharp crack split the air on impact. Dargan flew backward, and pain burst through his ribs. At least two had broken.

"Boss!" The men in black lunged to catch him.

"You bastard! How dare you strike me?" Dargan coughed blood. "Take him alive! I'll make him wish he were dead!"

Steel flashed in every direction.

"Kid, get back!" George moved on instinct and shoved a kitchen cleaver into Oscar's hand. "This is my fault. A Miller doesn't hide. If someone dies tonight, I die first."

His thin frame planted itself in front of Oscar.

Oscar's vision blurred. The last time someone stood in front of him like that, it had been his mentor.

Behind them, Helena gripped her scissors. Rebecca held a fruit knife in trembling hands. Fear showed on their faces, but so did resolve.

They had known him less than an hour.

Oscar's chest tightened. He had given everything to the Chamberlain sisters. They had never given him this.

A cough tore from his throat. He covered his mouth. Blood stained his palm.

He had meant to kill with that kick. At the final instant, pain exploded in his skull and drained his strength.

He clenched his fist and hid it behind his back.

"It's fine, Mr. Miller," he said softly. He tossed the cleaver aside and pulled the older man back. "They won't touch us."

He met George's gaze. "Justice will prevail. They will pay."

Propped up by his men, Dargan spat again. "Still talking big at the end? In a minute I'll—"

A violent gust of wind cut him off. Rotors thundered overhead.

The men in black staggered as powerful air currents tore through the rain and shredded the clouds.

"What the hell?" Dargan muttered. "Another storm?"

Victor lay sprawled on the ground and stared upward. His pain vanished, and only terror remained.

"Mr. Wyrmwood…" He pointed at the sky, speechless.

"Useless trash," Dargan snapped as he lifted his head. His mouth fell open.

In the dark sky above Percham, more than a dozen helicopters hovered in formation. Their spinning blades carved through the rain and split the cloud cover.

Their floodlights snapped on, and white beams crashed down, blinding the men below.

When their vision cleared, panic rippled through the ranks. Heavy machine guns mounted beneath each helicopter angled downward. Every barrel pointed at them.

A voice boomed from above through amplified speakers. "Everyone, drop your weapons. Hands on your heads. Kneel. Anyone who resists will be shot on sight."