"Harry! Anyone tries to stop us, break their legs!"
"Yes, sir!"
The Dunn brothers drew their weapons, every pair of eyes burning with menace.
The Harding bodyguards were well-trained, but standing against a pack of men who'd spent their lives dancing on the edge of a blade, their nerve crumbled in an instant.
I stepped over Quinton's body and shielded Bruno and Thomas as we pushed toward the exit.
Irene shrieked behind us, hysterical: "Call the police! Call the police right now! Have these thugs arrested!"
I didn't even turn around.
The moment we cleared the Harding estate, the SUV roared to life and tore out of there.
"Our private hospital! Now!" I shouted from the back seat.
Thomas slumped against my shoulder. His face was white as paper, his breathing so faint I could barely feel it.
I'd already formed a Divine Seal in secret, channeling a thread of spiritual energy into his body to shield the meridians around his heart.
But in the mortal world, a god's power was severely restrained.
If I pushed too hard, I wouldn't just invite divine retribution. I'd accelerate the collapse of his mortal body.
By the time we reached the Dunn Group's private hospital, the top medical team was already waiting at the entrance.
Thomas was rushed straight into the ICU.
I sat on the bench in the corridor, my brother's blood drying on both my hands.
A rush of heavy footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.
My father, Malcolm Dunn, strode toward me in a loose linen suit, flanked by several of his top lieutenants.
The man who commanded fear across every street in the city had nothing on his face now but raw worry.
"Reggie! Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" He grabbed me by the arms and looked me over head to toe.
I shook my head and pointed at the sealed ICU doors. "I'm fine. But Thomas is barely hanging on."
Malcolm's expression darkened.
"Those animals. Doing that to their own flesh and blood." He gripped my shoulder. "Don't worry. This hospital is ours. The doctors are the best money can buy. They'll pull him through."
But things were far worse than I'd imagined.
Two hours later, the attending physician emerged drenched in sweat, his face ashen.
"Mr. Dunn, sir... Mr. Harding's condition is extremely dire."
"He's had an excessive amount of bone marrow forcibly extracted. His hematopoietic stem cells have sustained catastrophic damage. He needs an immediate blood transfusion and emergency medication."
"However..." The doctor swallowed hard.
"However what? Spit it out!" I snapped.
The doctor's voice shook. "Ten minutes ago, every unit of compatible blood in our hospital's bank was requisitioned by the city's Department of Health. And the supplier for the specialized medication just called to terminate our contract unilaterally. They're refusing to deliver."
My head went blank, a single tone ringing through my skull. "Who did this?"
Malcolm's phone rang. He answered, listened for two seconds, and the color drained from his face.
He hurled the phone into the floor. It shattered into pieces.
"The Hardings!" Malcolm's teeth were clenched so hard the words barely came out. "That old bastard Garry Harding gave the order. They've pulled every political and business string they have. They didn't just cut off our medical supplies. They've rallied half a dozen major families to launch a coordinated assault on every legitimate business we've been building."
The Hardings moved fast. In less than half a day, the internet was flooded.
#OrganizedCrimeInvadesPrivateHome#
#LostHeirAndSyndicateBossAssaultOwnParents#
#BoycottDunnGroup #CrackDownOnOrganizedCrime#
The articles were plastered with surveillance stills of me and my men smashing through the Harding estate gates, alongside interview footage of Irene and Vivian sobbing in a hospital, heads wrapped in bandages.
In the video, Irene wailed until her voice cracked: "We just wanted Thomas to come home. But he accused us of favoring Vivian, and then he brought gangsters to destroy our house! He tried to kill his own brother! Where is the justice in this world?!"
