Page 89 of Jump or Fall
Her mouth fell open in shock before going slack, her body collapsing heavily onto the marble floor. He stepped over her without a second glance and made his way inside.
Knight had never been careful enough about hiding his spies.
Millon moved deeper into the house, casually blowing smoke rings into the air.
Such opulence.
Everywhere he looked, the wealth of old bloodlines screamed for attention—the high ceilings, the heavy velvet drapes framing the windows, and the intricate patterns woven into the rugs. The walls were decorated with thick frames, each depicting scenes from a world long dead: hunts on horseback, leaders forgotten by time, and the landscape from before the terraformers had repaired the coasts.
A noise to his left caught his attention, and he fired again. The shot cracked like a whip in the cavernous hall. Screams followed, but they sounded more out of fear than pain.
An alarm blared through the house.
Now he definitely knew where to look. He had recommended the builder after all.
Millon reached the locked door and pinched the cigarette between his teeth. With a sharp jerk, he tore the brass knob off and drove his hand through the wood.
Too many of these old-money types favored aesthetics over security. A steel door would have held.
Inside, the room was neat and orderly. Books lined one wall while a very large display hung across from the desk.
To his left, the alarm panel flashed.
One shot and the house descended into a silence that left the echo of the alarm ringing in his ears.
Distant shouts and thumps in the house weren’t his concern.
Only his target.
On the desk sat a crystal decanter of wine along with a half-filled glass. The fresh lip stain on its rim told him it had been abandoned recently.
He plucked a new glass from the rack and poured the dark vintage. With a casual swirl of the glass, he took a seat and propped up his feet on the desk. The aroma rose up, filling his nose with the scent of earth and black cherries. The man certainly had expensive taste.
“Come on, Beck,” he called out. “We have some things to discuss.”
Silence.
“I know you’re in there.” Millon toyed with his lighter. “If you’d prefer, I can set the place on fire and roast you in your little cage.”
A false wall slid open, revealing the pitiful, trembling excuse of a man—hardly worthy of the title Archon. Beck wrung his hands as he stepped forward, hesitating before finally lowering himself into the seat across from him.
“Now, you have two options.” Millon took a sip of wine, then placed it on the desk. “First option, you stop being Knight’s bitch and you start being mine. Though, truth be told, I don’treallyneed you.” He took a long drag. “Second—you die right here.”
Beck refused to meet his eyes. His thinning hair, combed over to conceal the bald spot, was a mess, sticking out in all directions. “I… I can’t, Millon. He has my sons. I can’t lose another child.”
Millon pointed his gun at Beck’s chest. “You aren’t taking my company from me.”
Sweat gathered on Beck’s flushed face. “The… the order ha-has been signed. Hyperion be-belongs to State Security. E-Enforcers will b-be there t-t-tomorrow.”
One shot was all it took.
The poor bastard didn’t even have the sense to put on his armor.
Millon positioned Beck’s arm on the desk and drew a large blade from his belt. With the strength of his bionic arm, he cleaved his hand off at the wrist, slicing effortlessly through bone and muscle. Spurts of thick crimson doused the desk, soaking into papers and dripping down the side to stain the rug.
Blood trailed behind him as he strode through the house, carrying the Archon’s severed hand.
He tossed it out onto the front steps, then rolled three remote heavies into different rooms.
