Chapter 8: Confrontation

Thunderheads smothered the sky, and rain poured down in sheets. A ten-thousand-strong convoy rolled toward the heart of Nettle, a dark, unending tide. From a distance, it looked like a storm of iron. Inside a military Humvee, Roland stared straight ahead, his face carved from ice, murder in his eyes. He'd been on the phone with Nettle's top families almost nonstop along the road. Only then had he learned that Taylor had shot his prized grandson and that Enzo had also died at Taylor's hands. As for the top expert, Seth, and his two personal disciples, none of them had survived Taylor either. The thought made Roland's eyes bloodshot; he ground his teeth. Rain hammered the vehicle, drumming on his nerves. He muttered, voice low and ragged, "I never thought something so small would catch me off guard." "Boy, I'm back. Are you ready?" Regret gnawed at him. He had thought that once the Jauncy family was wiped out, the Wokey family would have nothing left to fear in Nettle. He had never imagined a mere cripple could blindside him like this. Now he had to choke down the grief of losing a son and a grandson. "Mr. Wokey, say the word if you need it. I can act," said the man sharing the back seat, his voice low yet carrying an inexplicable weight. Roland drew a breath. "Mr. = Sean, you're joking. You're Magnus's right-hand enforcer. Why would a cripple require your action?" Though blood rage burned in his eyes, his tone remained deferential. Sean inclined his head, saying nothing. A flicker of proud contempt slid through his eyes. "Three years ago," Roland growled, "he was indeed Nettle's most promising fighter. But now? He's nothing but a cripple." "When I catch that wretch, I'll riddle him with a thousand rounds and send him to my son and grandson as an offering." As they spoke, the vehicle lurched to a sudden halt. "What is it now? Why are we stopping again?" Roland lowered the window and barked into the rain. "Mr. Wokey, we don't know. The front of the convoy has stopped!" a soldier shouted back. Sean smiled slightly. "Oh? Could it be that Magnus sent someone else to lend a hand?" "If so, I am flattered indeed. Let's go see." With a sweep of Roland's hand, the Humvee tore toward the front. Up ahead, in the deluge, the troops had come to a halt. A young man in a wheelchair was rolling slowly toward them. He held a black umbrella. Rain streamed off its rim like a curtain, hiding his icy expression. "Who's there? Got a death wish, blocking the Wokey family's troops?" "Move if you don't want to die!" The lead soldier pointed and cursed at Taylor. Taylor rolled on as if he hadn't heard. His voice drifted out, level and calm. "Have Roland come out." His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the rain; every soldier heard him as if he were standing right next to them. "Yeah? Who the hell are you? You think you're fit to say his name?" "Watch your mouth. Ready the machine guns!" A row of soldiers snapped their weapons up, sights fixed on Taylor. Taylor didn't even glance at them. His wheels kept turning. He twitched his wrist. The umbrella spun. Beads of water flung outward, each one flashing with a shard of winter light. The rain leapt, a storm of hidden blades. Needles of water streaked toward the front rank. In an instant, over a hundred soldiers jerked and then toppled backward like fence posts. Taylor's face didn't move. He lifted the umbrella a fraction, and at last, his eyes showed, keen as drawn steel. "Either Roland comes out, or I'll kill you row by row." An engine roared. A Humvee burst to the front of the line. Roland stared at the man in the wheelchair, then at the river of blood. His eyes went wide. "You? Hah. Little bastard. I was just coming for you, and you come to me yourself." Taylor tilted the umbrella, his gaze as glacial as ice. "Talk. What did your family say on that call abroad?" Roland's mouth twisted into a madman's smile. "You think I'm afraid because you killed Enzo and Kenneth? I'll tell you this. I have plenty of sons and grandsons. Any one of them can inherit my empire." "And you? You'll be joining the Jauncy family's dead very soon." He tilted his head back into the rain. "After today, Nettle will have no Jauncy family left." "You think so?" Taylor gave a soft, cold laugh and raised his face to the rain. "I just wiped out all sixty-three members of the Wokey family." "What?" Roland jolted. He didn't want to believe it, but his household consisted of sixty-three people. He hadn't imagined the boy would be so ruthless, leaving not a single one alive. "Goddammit, I'll send you to hell right now! Donald!" At his shout, a black blur burst from behind him. The man's eyes burned with murderous intent. His punch tore the air open. Donald, the bodyguard, had protected only Roland for years, and so few knew his name. His strength surpassed even Seth's. He was Roland's strongest hidden card. Taylor's gaze flickered, but his face stayed calm. He made a small sweeping motion with his hand. The rain seemed to stall, every droplet hanging in place. Before their eyes, those droplets thickened into razor-edged shards of ice. Swoosh! The ice flashed forward, like arrows, like bullets. Donald tried to dodge, but the shards came like a skyful of arrows. He had no time to move. The shards punched through flesh with muffled, sickening sounds. In the pelting rain, he hit the ground with a thud. Blood and rainwater mixed and spread, seeping outward in a widening stain. Roland stared, dumbstruck. In all of Nettle, there were only a handful who could stand against Donald, and the man had been riddled with holes in a single exchange. "You're next." Taylor pointed at Roland. "Kid, you've got some skill," a deep voice said. "But in front of me, you don't get to act cocky." The car door opened. A middle-aged man stepped out slowly. It was the Swordmaster, Sean. He opened his palm. Raindrops landed in his palm and formed an Ice Sword. "No wonder they call Sean the Swordmaster. He can shape rain into a blade!" "Of course. He's Highplain's fiercest fighter!" "That punk has no idea about the Wokey family's ties to Magnus. He's dead today!" Soldiers gaped in awe at Sean's display. Roland nodded, satisfied. "Mr. Sean, don't kill him. I want to take his head myself, to honor my family's dead." Sean chuckled and raised the Ice Sword, the tip aligning with Taylor. "Kid, get on your knees before the head of the Wokey family and accept your death. If I have to step in, you'll suffer more than you can imagine." Taylor flicked him a flat glance. "Get in my way and you die."