Aiden Knight's POV
The rusted doors of the warehouse exploded inward with a sound like thunder. Metal fragments scattered across the concrete floor as I stepped through the smoking entrance. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the salt air from the harbor.
"Gentlemen." My voice echoed through the cavernous space. "I've come to play our final game."
Seven figures emerged from behind shipping containers and support pillars. Four wore the distinctive crimson robes of Miles Graves's disciples. The other three dressed in black tactical gear with silver medallions hanging from their necks. Yates family experts.
"Impossible," one of the robed disciples breathed. "How did you find us so quickly?"
I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You underestimated me. Again."
The lead disciple stepped forward. His face was scarred from years of brutal training. His eyes held the confidence of a man who had never lost a fight.
