Vulture rises from behind his cover, firing a sustained burst that forces all of us to duck. In the moment of reprieve, he makes a dash toward Tommy, clearly intent on freeing his cousin.
King emerges from cover, his weapon trained on Vulture. "Stop," he commands. "It's over. Your men are down. The Eagles outside are being pushed back. Surrender now, we'll make it quick."
Vulture freezes, still several feet from Tommy. For the first time, I get a clear look at him. Tall, lean, with the same sharp features as Tommy but harder, crueler. His eyes burn with hatred as he stares at King.
"You murdered my brother," he says, his voice vibrating with rage.
"Your brother pulled a knife in a fistfight," King replies evenly. "I defended myself. Everyone there saw it."
"Lies!" Vulture spits. "Talon would never—"
"He was high," King cuts in. "Meth, according to the autopsy. Makes men do stupid, reckless things."
Vulture's face contorts with fury. He raises his weapon again, but King is faster. His first shot catches Vulture in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second hits his thigh, dropping him to one knee.
"It's over," King repeats, moving closer, his gun trained on Vulture's head. "Drop the weapon."
For a moment, it looks like Vulture might comply. His gun wavers, lowering slightly. Then his eyes dart to Tommy, still bound to the chair, watching the confrontation with mounting panic.
"Vulture, don't leave me," Tommy pleads. "Get me out of here, man. They'll kill me."
Something changes in Vulture's expression—a cold calculation replacing the rage.
"You got caught," he says, his voice suddenly flat. "You let them take you alive."
"I didn't have a choice!" Tommy protests. "There were two of them, they—"
"There's always a choice," Vulture interrupts. "Die fighting or live as a liability." His gun comes up again, but not toward King or any of us.
Toward Tommy.
"No, wait—" Tommy begins, but the rest of his words are lost in the deafening crack of Vulture's gun.
The bullet catches Tommy in the center of his forehead, killing him instantly. His body slumps in the chair, blood and brain matter splattering the wall behind him.
The shock of it freezes us all for a crucial second. Long enough for Vulture to bring his weapon back toward King. But Tank recovers first, firing a shot that takes Vulture in the arm, causing his own shot to go wide.
Vulture staggers backward. He fires wildly, forcing us to take cover, then makes a break for the door.
"Stop him!" King shouts, but Vulture is already through the doorway, disappearing down the corridor.
Beast and I pursue, charging into the hallway. Vulture is limping badly from the bullet in his leg, leaving a trail of blood, but he's moving with desperate speed.
"Split up," I tell Beast. "Cut him off at the garage."
Beast nods and peels off down a side corridor while I continue the direct pursuit. Ahead, Vulture crashes through a door into the main hall, where the initial fighting was heaviest.
The scene that greets us is one of devastation. Overturned furniture, bullet holes in walls, blood smeared across the floor. Bodies lie scattered. All Eagles, I note with grim satisfaction. Our brothers have held their ground.
Vulture sees it too, the evidence of his failed assault. His men are dead or retreating, Tommy executed by his own hand. Whatever advantage he thought he had coming into tonight has evaporated.
He turns, sensing me behind him. His face is pale from blood loss, his eyes wild with the knowledge of defeat.
"This isn't over," he gasps, raising his gun once more.
I dive behind an overturned table as he fires, the bullets splintering wood above my head. When I rise to return fire, he's already moving again, heading for the garage where the Eagles first breached our defenses.
I follow, keeping low, weapon ready. As I reach the garage, I hear engines starting—motorcycles. Through the open bay door, I see Vulture climbing onto a bike, three other Eagles mounting up beside him. They must have been waiting, a contingency plan if things went south.
