Chapter 4 - The Predator’s ReturnJulian froze, his eyes widening in shock as he spun around toward the doorway.
Standing in the entrance wasn't a broken man confined to a wheelchair.
It was Maxwell Rourke.
He wore a dark charcoal turtleneck and heavy woolen trousers. He was standing upright, leaning slightly against a heavy mahogany cane, his broad shoulders squared and his dark gray eyes burning with an unholy, terrifying rage. Though his right leg trembled slightly with the immense strain of supporting his weight after years of forced atrophy, his stance was unmistakable.
He was standing on his own two feet.
Julian’s face drained of every drop of color. The pistol in his hand shook violently. “M-Maxwell? That’s impossible… Dr. Hayes said your spine was permanently—you can’t stand!”
“Dr. Hayes lied,” Maxwell said, his voice a low, gravelly thunder that echoed off the high ceiling of the study. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the tip of his cane striking the hardwood floor like a gavel. “And you bought him, Julian. You and my own cousin thought you could drug me into a grave while you carved up my empire.”
Panic flashed across Julian’s face. He whipped the pistol around toward Maxwell, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Then I’ll finish what Hayes started right here—”
I didn't think. I lunged forward, grabbing a heavy brass desk lamp and swinging it with all my might across Julian’s back.
With a sharp cry of pain, Julian staggered forward, his shot going wide, shattering a decorative glass vase against the wall.
That single second of hesitation was all Maxwell needed.
With terrifying speed, Maxwell closed the remaining distance between them. Dropping his cane, he lunged forward, grabbing Julian by the silk collar of his robe and slamming him hard against the oak bookshelves. Heavy leather-bound volumes rained down around them as Maxwell wrenched the pistol from Julian’s grip and tossed it across the room.
“You sold out our family,” Maxwell snarled, pressing his forearm against Julian’s throat, cutting off his air supply until Julian’s face turned a bruised, ugly purple. “You turned my life into a cage. And for that, I should break your neck right here.”
“Boss… please…” Julian choked out, clawing desperately at Maxwell’s arm. “I have… the offshore routing numbers… I can give you everything back…”
Maxwell stared down at him with sheer disgust, then shoved him backward. Julian collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air like a dying fish.
Maxwell turned his head slowly, looking over at me standing by the desk, breathing heavily. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
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“You saved my life, Martha,” Maxwell said quietly, his voice softening just a fraction.
“I told you,” I panted, clutching the medical files to my chest, “I’m a physical therapist. I hate seeing patients mistreated.”
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