Chapter 23: Sterling?

The living room was warm, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows across the walls. The twins were giggling over a board game on the carpet while Elena folded clothes on the couch.

Miles stepped in, already dressed—black jeans, fitted dark jacket, clean boots. His presence, as always, quiet but commanding.

“Mom,” he said casually, “I won’t be having dinner here tonight.”

Elena looked up, surprised for a second. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going out with some friends from college,” Miles replied. His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed a deeper intention he didn’t speak aloud.

Elena’s surprise turned into a soft smile. “Out with friends, hmm? That’s nice.”

She walked over and gently fixed the collar of his jacket. “I’m glad you’re settling in… making space for a normal life.”

Miles gave a faint smile.

“Alright, my son. Enjoy. Don’t stay out too late,” she added warmly.

Miles gave a small wave, his footsteps quiet as he moved to the door. “I won’t. Lock the doors after me.”

“Always,” Elena replied.

As the door closed behind him, Elena turned back toward the twins with a smile—relieved to see her son slowly stepping back into the world.

But out there in the night, Miles wasn’t heading to any ordinary college hangout.

Tonight, the Paradise Club had a guest it didn’t expect.

Miles walked a little ahead into the dimly lit street, shadows stretching far under the soft buzz of flickering streetlamps.

A matte-black tactical van rolled up silently and stopped a few feet ahead. No markings. No lights. Just purpose.

The side door slid open with a hydraulic hiss.

A tall, well-built man stepped out, dressed in dark tactical gear, earpiece in place, sidearm at his hip.

“Good evening, Boss,” he greeted with a short nod. “I’m your second in command tonight. Let’s move.”

Without a word, Miles stepped inside.

—

Inside the Van

The interior of the van was dim, bathed in blue ambient lighting. The walls were lined with weapon racks—knives, stun batons, compact SMGs, and silenced pistols all perfectly arranged in magnetic holders.

A mounted screen on the front wall displayed a live feed of the Paradise Club’s exterior from multiple angles—thermal, night vision, security intercepts. A smaller monitor showed a city map with blinking dots: team members already in position.

Miles sat down on a bench and pulled open a locker labeled: “Ghost.”

Inside—his custom loadout.

He put on a sleek bulletproof vest, low-profile but impact-resistant. From one compartment he retrieved twin karambit knives, sliding them into the sheathes at his back.

A black matte sidearm, silenced. Checked, loaded, holstered.

His earpiece flickered to life.

“Mission control to field… it’s almost closing time. Everyone, in position. I repeat—everyone, in position.”

Monica’s voice came through clearly.

Miles, eyes focused, pressed the mic clipped to his collar.

“Snipers confirm your positions.”

One by one, crisp voices answered back:

“Falcon, in position.”

“Viper, in position.”

“Specter, in position.”

Miles nodded.

“Backup?”

“Northwest alley. Two blocks out. Van unit ready to extract. Riot team on standby,” came a calm, clipped reply.

Miles leaned forward, eyes locked on the monitors.

“No civilian casualties. Understood?”

“Copy that.”

“Confirmed.”

“Roger, Ghost.”

“Loud and clear, Boss.”

The van rolled to a slow stop behind the Paradise Club, near a narrow service alley under the veil of night. Loud bass thumped faintly through the brick walls.

Miles (Ghost):

“Falcon, what’s the civilian status?”

A faint crackle before Falcon’s voice came through, low and alert.

Falcon: “Something’s wrong, Boss.”

Miles’s gaze sharpened. “What?”

Falcon: “Thirty-three civilians entered the club tonight. Only thirty came out. It’s past closing time… and the front exit is clear.”

Miles clenched his jaw. “Specter, do you have visual on the remaining civilians?”

Specter: “Negative. No heat signatures in the main hall. If they’re still inside, they’re in the private rooms—possibly underground or shielded.”

Viper: “Same here. Roof sightlines are blocked by concrete. No movement in the upper floor.”

Miles took a breath. His fingers twitched near his sidearm. “Falcon, do we have names?”

Falcon: “Yes, Boss. Logged every guest from the facial ID scan at the entrance. Pulling up now…”

A pause.

Falcon: “People who haven’t come out yet… Here, sir: Celina Wraithbourne, Becky Langford, and Rose Ainsley.”

The name hit Miles like a bullet to the ribs.

He went still.

His voice, when it came, was cold and cutting:

“I told them not to go there.” His grip tightened around the comm piece. “These girls—”

“We’re moving in.”

“I repeat— we’re moving in.”

Instantly, the command echoed through the comms:

Specter: “Copy that. Sniper support ready.”

Viper: “Moving to alternate angle. Prepping suppression fire if needed.”

Falcon: “Visual overwatch active. Will provide real-time movement updates.”

Team Alpha: “Breaching crew ready at back service door.”

Team Bravo: “In position at side entry. Awaiting green light.”

Miles pulled a black glove tighter on his hand and stepped out of the van into the alley shadows, the back of Paradise Club looming ahead like a quiet monster.

“Let’s bring them home.” he muttered.

And the ghost moved.

Miles, now suited up in his tactical vest, moved quickly through the back alley shadows as his team advanced toward the club. The van’s tinted windows reflected none of the tension inside.

He dialed again.

Celina.

No response.

He tried Becky.

Then Rose.

Nothing.

His eyes narrowed. He dropped the phone into his vest pocket. “We’re out of time.”

—

Inside the underground VIP chamber — Paradise Club

The air was thick with stale smoke and the overwhelming stench of liquor. Dim red lights flickered from the ceiling like the dying embers of a fire. A private chamber, far below the main dance floor—soundproofed, hidden, illegal.

Three men stood confidently inside, their eyes bloodshot from alcohol, their shirts half-unbuttoned. Empty glasses and a bottle lay on a nearby table.

Becky and Rose were sprawled across the velvet couch, unconscious—clearly drugged or too drunk to fight back.

Celina sat upright, chained to the arm of a chair. Her jaw trembled but her eyes held fury. Her voice cracked through the haze.

“How dare you keep us here? Do you even know who my father is?”

One of the men, clearly drunk, staggered toward her and grinned.

“Your father?” he chuckled. “He doesn’t run this city, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

The other two laughed crudely.

Celina’s anger was slowly being replaced by fear. Real fear.

“Just stay the night,” one of them leered, licking his lips. “You’ll enjoy our company… all three of you.”

She stood up slightly, trying to protect her friends even in their state.

“You touch them, and I swear—”

Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the table nearby.

One of the men picked it up, looking at the caller ID.

He froze.

“Miles Sterling…?”

Another leaned over. His brows furrowed. “Sterling? Wait… as in the Sterling?”

The first man whispered quickly. “Edward Sterling’s son. The one who was kidnapped years ago. Six years old. They said he died…”

A third man’s eyes went wide.

“No. He didn’t die. That day—”

He gritted his teeth. “That guy who disrupted the mission . That was him. That was Miles.”

They all went silent for a beat.

Celina, tied and struggling, blinked.

“Kidnapped…?” she whispered.

The men turned back toward her.

“Oh… looks like you’re close to him, aren’t you?”

“Well well… we just hit the jackpot.”

The phone buzzed again.

Miles Sterling flashing across the screen.

But this time, no one dared to pick it up.

Outside, the back door lock clicked.

The ghost had arrived.

The rear entrance of the club opened with a soft metallic click. The sound barely echoed, swallowed by the pulsating bass of muffled music still playing in the distance. A figure stepped in, followed by three more—shadows within shadows.

Miles led the way, his face partially obscured beneath a black hood and a comms earpiece barely visible under his jawline. His movements were sharp—silent, deliberate. Behind him, two operatives flanked each hallway, clearing every corner like clockwork.

A security guard rounded the corner near the loading dock—Thump. A baton strike to the neck. He collapsed without a whisper. The operative caught him mid-fall and dragged him behind stacked crates.

No alarms. No noise. No hesitation.

Miles raised his hand—flat palm—and pointed forward.

Falcon (Sniper):“North-east corridor clear.”

Spector (Sniper):“Southern entrance clear. No movement.”

Viper (Sniper):“Roof-level glass dome clean. I’ve got overwatch.”

Inside, the corridors twisted like a maze. Every red light flickered eerily, giving the team passing glances of one another in fragmented shadows.

They reached a split. Miles gestured silently. Two fingers forward. One tap to the right. The team dispersed.

Another guard patrolled ahead. The moment he turned his back—

Whpff! A silenced dart from a compact pneumatic gun hit his neck. He wobbled and hit the ground softly like a falling curtain.

Miles crouched beside him and picked up a keycard.

He clicked his comms once—a signal without words.

They advanced deeper, floor by floor, closer to the private rooms beneath.

At each hallway intersection, their backs pressed against the wall, rifles scanning side to side, breathing shallow and disciplined.

From outside, the snipers continued to track—

Falcon: “Still no heat signatures near your entry. Likely concentrated underground.”

Spector: “Thermals picking up faint movement near sub-basement. Too far for ID.”

Miles raised a clenched fist. Everyone froze. Ahead—a steel door. Guarded.

He made a slicing motion across his throat.

Thap.

Crack.

The two guards fell—one from a chokehold, the other from a swift joint-dislocating strike to the leg and neck. Bodies were pulled aside and hidden. Not a drop of blood spilled. Still no sound.

Miles pressed the keycard.

Green.

Door unlocked with a soft click.

He raised three fingers. Counted down—3… 2… 1…

The door slid open. Darkness waited on the other side.

Inside, something vile was about to be undone.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep