With the machine gunner neutralized, the echo of gunfire slowly faded into the cold, unsettling silence of the mansion.
I rolled my shoulders, cracking my neck as I holstered my Desert Eagles.
This fight was over. But the real hunt was just beginning.
I scanned the area, my Eagle Eyes activated, searching for anything out of place.
There had to be a hidden passage somewhere. A mansion this large, this well-guarded, wouldn't have been chosen for human trafficking without secret routes for transport.
Abigail stood nearby, still shaken from the gunfight but keeping her composure.
"What now?" she asked, her voice more controlled than before.
I didn't answer immediately, my eyes tracing along the old brick walls, the tattered carpets, the large, ornate bookshelf in the far end of the hall.
There.
A section of the floor had faint scratch marks**, like it had been moved repeatedly.
I smirked. Found it.
I walked over, kneeling beside the old wooden bookcase, running my fingers along the dusty edges.
Abigail frowned. "A bookshelf? You think there's something behind it?"
I ignored her, my hand pressing against different sections of the wood, feeling for—
Click.
A soft, mechanical shift sounded from behind the wall.
Abigail took a step back as I stood, gripping the side of the bookshelf and pulling it outward with force.
With a groan of old wood and grinding stone, the massive bookshelf swung open, revealing a dark, descending stairwell.
Abigail inhaled sharply. "Jesus…"
A putrid stench rose from the underground passage, a mix of blood, rot, and human waste.
This was it.
The real nightmare was down there.
I pulled out my gun again, my eyes narrowing as I turned to Abigail.
"Last chance, Ms. Bardot. You go down there, you'll see things you'll wish you never did."
She swallowed hard but didn't look away.
"I'm going."
I watched her for a moment, then smirked.
"Suit yourself."
Without hesitation, I stepped into the darkness below, my gun raised.
And Abigail followed me into hell.
As we stepped deeper into the underground passage, the air grew thick and putrid, a rancid mixture of sweat, blood, and decay.
I could hear the faint sounds of whimpering, the clinking of chains, and the muffled cries of people trapped in cages.
Then—there it was.
A large iron-barred cage in the center of the room, filled with terrified civilians—men, women, even children.
And among them—Morris's daughter.
She was curled up in a corner, her face pale, eyes hollow.
But between us and them, standing like a monolith of muscle and brutality, was a massive guard.
He was a beast of a man, at least 6'8" with bulging muscles, covered in tattoos and scars. His thick arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of sheer amusement as he looked at me.
"Well, well…" he rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice. "Another hero walks into my den."
Abigail tensed beside me, taking a step back.
I smirked, rolling my shoulders. "And here I thought you bastards had actual security."
The man grinned, cracking his knuckles. "I don't need security. I am security."
I chuckled. "Good. That means I don't have to hold back."
The moment he charged, the entire floor trembled.
He was fast for his size, a walking wrecking ball of muscle, but I had fought worse.
Much worse.
He threw a massive haymaker, the sheer force of it cracking the air as it swung toward my skull.
But I was already moving.
I sidestepped at the last second, twisting my body as the punch barely missed my face, smashing into the wall behind me—exploding bricks on impact.
I didn't wait.
I struck.
With a devastating front kick, I drove my heel straight into his ribs—a normal man's bones would have shattered on impact.
But he barely staggered, his grin widening.
"That all you got?"
I smirked. "Not even close."
He lunged again, this time attempting to grab me, his massive arms swinging like iron chains.
I ducked low, sweeping his leg, forcing him to stumble.
Before he could regain balance, I drove my knee into his gut, sending a shockwave through his torso.
His breath hitched—but he still didn't go down.
"Not bad," he grunted, wiping blood from his mouth. "But not enough."
He swung a wild right hook.
I caught his wrist mid-air—and twisted.
CRACK!
A sickening pop filled the room as his shoulder dislocated.
He roared in pain, but I wasn't done.
Using his momentum, I twisted his massive frame around and slammed him headfirst into the steel bars of the cage—so hard the metal bent inward.
"AHHHH!!"
The captives inside screamed, backing away from the impact.
Morris's daughter clutched the bars, watching in shock.
The guard groaned, trying to push himself up.
I didn't let him.
I grabbed the back of his skull, lifted him slightly—then drove my knee into his face.
BANG!
His nose exploded in blood.
BANG!
Another knee—his teeth shattered.
BANG!
A final strike, sending his body collapsing to the ground, twitching.
I stepped back, cracking my knuckles.
"Security, huh?" I muttered. "What a joke."
The room fell into stunned silence.
I turned toward Abigail.
She was frozen, her eyes locked onto me, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something—but couldn't.
She had seen me fight before. But not like this.
Not like a monster unleashed.
She had seen the man she once broke, but now—she was seeing something else. Something terrifying.
I walked past her without a word, grabbing the keys from the guard's belt.
Then, turning toward the cage, I unlocked it, letting the captives stumble out in disbelief.
Morris's daughter ran forward, clutching my sleeve. "T-Thank you…"
I patted her head. "Let's get you home."
Then, without sparing Abigail another glance, I walked toward the exit.
Because this mission was over.
And I had more important things to do than deal with her emotions.