Chapter 6 - The Collector Collected
Victor raised his left hand.
Marcus and two other enforcers melted into position beside the door.
With a single, effortless shove, Victor threw the hospital door open. It slammed back against the drywall with a resounding crash that echoed down the quiet hallway.
Mick O’Shea jumped violently, dropping his phone onto the tiled floor.
“What the—?” Mick barked, spinning around. His face drained of color when he saw who filled the doorway.
It wasn't a hospital orderly. It wasn't a doctor.
It was Victor Costello—the man whose name was whispered in dark rooms across three states—standing shoulder-to-shoulder with four armed executioners, and dragging a sobbing Sadi Hayes behind him.
Mick’s knees buckled slightly. He recognized the suit. He recognized the face from the papers.
“V-Victor?” Mick stammered, holding up his hands defensively, backing up until his legs hit the side of Sam’s hospital bed. “I... I think there’s been a mistake. I didn't know this was your... your people—!”
“You’re standing in a children’s hospital, Mick,” Victor said softly. His voice was so quiet it felt like a death sentence hanging in the air.
He stepped into the room, letting go of Sadi’s arm just long enough to draw the Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster.
Sadi immediately broke past him, running to the side of the bed. She fell to her knees, burying her face against the edge of Sam’s blanket, sobbing with relief when she heard the steady, even rhythm of her brother’s breathing. He was safe. He was still sleeping.
“Please, Mr. Costello!” Mick whimpered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak as Victor closed the distance between them. “It’s just business! She owes me sixty grand! It’s an interest debt!”
Victor stopped two feet away from him. He raised the heavy pistol, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Mick O’Shea’s forehead.
Mick let out a high, pathetic squeak, squeezing his eyes shut, his bladder visibly failing him as a dark wet stain spread across the front of his gray trousers.
“She doesn't owe you a damn thing anymore,” Victor said, his voice flat, devoid of mercy. “Because as of right now, Sadi Hayes’s debt has been transferred to my ledger.”
Mick swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically. “H-how much? I’ll write it off! I’ll tear up the contract! Just don't—!”
“Too late,” Victor murmured.
Before Mick could scream, Victor reversed the pistol in his grip and brought the heavy steel butt crashing down directly against the side of Mick’s temple.
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Mick dropped like a felled oak tree, his head hitting the linoleum floor with a dull, sickening thud, knocked out cold in a single, devastating strike.
The room fell dead silent, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor and Sadi’s soft, broken sniffles by the bed.
