SHATTERED IVORY: THE NIGHT THE GIANT CHOSE THE BROKEN GIRL - FULL STORY

The retaliation came faster than either of them anticipated. Charles Whitmore was not a man who waited for his enemies to strike first, and Victoria was driven by a psychotic need to eliminate the stain on her perfect life.

It was 3:00 AM on the third night at the safe house. Clara was asleep in the spare room, her restless dreams filled with the scent of red wine and the sound of breaking crystal.

In the living room, Elias sat in the dark, a dismantled custom-built Glock 19 on the coffee table in front of him. He was cleaning the parts by feel, his eyes fixed on the security feeds glowing softly on the monitors.

Suddenly, the screen showing the alleyway went dark. Then the stairwell feed cut out to static.

Elias assembled the weapon in under four seconds. He racked the slide, the metallic clack impossibly loud in the quiet loft. He moved silently to Clara's door, opening it just enough to see her sleeping form.

"Clara," he whispered sharply.

She woke instantly, the trauma of the past few days keeping her on a hair-trigger. "What is it?"

"Get under the bed. Do not come out until I say your name. Understand?"

She nodded, her eyes wide with terror in the dark, and quickly scrambled beneath the heavy steel-framed bed.

Elias stepped back into the main room, killing the power to the loft. Darkness swallowed the space. He pressed himself against the concrete pillar near the reinforced door. Three seconds later, a muted *thump* echoed as a breaching charge blew the hinges off the door.

Four men filed in, wearing tactical gear and night-vision goggles. They were professionals. Mercenaries. Charles had spared no expense.

But Elias Cain was a monster forged in the dark.

He didn't shoot first; gunfire would give away his position. As the first man passed his pillar, Elias moved. He grabbed the mercenary's rifle by the barrel, yanking him forward while delivering a devastating strike to the man's throat. The mercenary went down without a sound.

Elias used the falling man's body as a shield as the other three registered the movement and opened fire with suppressed weapons. Bullets chewed into the concrete and the dead mercenary's vest.

Elias raised his Glock and fired twice. Two rapid flashes of light illuminated the room. Two mercenaries dropped, perfect shots to the gaps in their body armor.

The last man panicked, spraying bullets wildly across the room. One grazed Elias’s shoulder, tearing through his shirt and drawing blood, but the giant didn't even flinch. He lunged forward, closing the distance terrifyingly fast, and tackled the man through the glass coffee table. A brutal, heavy punch shattered the mercenary's night-vision goggles and knocked him unconscious.

The loft fell silent again, save for Elias's heavy breathing and the distant wail of a police siren.

He walked to the bedroom, blood dripping from his shoulder. "Clara," he said, his voice calm.

She slid out from under the bed, trembling as she saw the bodies in the living room and the blood on his arm. She didn't scream. Instead, she walked up to him, tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her oversized shirt, and firmly tied it around his bleeding shoulder.