He Came Home Early and Found a Pet Collar Around His 6-Year-Old Son’s Neck. His New Wife Called It “Discipline”—Until Her Own Mother’s Phone Revealed What They Had Planned Before the Party Even Began. / Chapter 76 / 80

Chapter 76 - The Iron Wolf of the Hebrides

Daniel’s hands, which had remained rock-steady through sniper duels and grenade blasts, shook as he held the sterilized tip of the combat knife over his son’s skin.

"Bite down on this, Mason," Daniel said, placing a thick leather strap from the commando’s harness between the boy’s teeth. "Hold my hand with everything you have. It will take ten seconds. Just ten seconds."

Mason bit into the leather, his knuckles turning white as he gripped Daniel’s tactical jacket.

Daniel made the incision.

It was shallow—barely three millimeters—but blood welled up instantly against the boy’s pale skin. Mason let out a muffled scream behind the leather, his body locking rigid with agony, but he did not pull away. He kept his hazel eyes locked onto his father’s face, finding an impossible anchor in Daniel’s steady gaze.

With the tip of his tactical tweezers, Daniel probed the subcutaneous tissue. Metal clicked against glass. He clamped down and pulled.

A tiny, silver cylinder—no larger than an apple seed—slipped out of the boy’s shoulder, slick with crimson.

Daniel immediately jammed the sterile dressing against the wound, wrapping adhesive pressure tape tightly around Mason’s shoulder and chest. "It’s out. It’s over, Mason. You were braver than any soldier I’ve ever commanded."

Mason spat out the leather strap, sobbing quietly against Daniel’s chest, trembling from shock and adrenaline. "Did... did you kill it?"

Daniel took the silver transponder, laid it on a flat stone, and smashed it into metallic dust with the butt of his pistol. "It's dead."

Suddenly, the roar of twin turboshaft engines echoed from the mouth of the sea cave.

A blinding searchlight swept across the boiling ocean waves outside, illuminating the jagged sea stacks and the churning white foam of the Atlantic. Hovering less than fifty feet above the water was an AgustaWestland AW101 transport helicopter, painted matte black with no military markings.

On its side was the crest of the Sovereign Syndicate: an iron serpent coiled around a broken hourglass.

"Attention cavern sector," a voice boomed from the helicopter’s external PA system, slicing through the roaring gale. It was Emily’s voice—amplified, metallic, stripped of all humanity. "The coastal battery is secured. The island is sealed. Daniel, you have six minutes before the high tide fills that cavern to the roof. Bring Mason to the cliff landing zone, or drown together in the dark."

Through the cave entrance, Daniel saw movement on the rocky outcrop above the water. Arthur Vance’s personal guard had set up a heavy .50 caliber machine gun nest on the ridge, covering the cave exit.

At the same time, Daniel’s tactical earpiece, long dead from the underground interference, suddenly crackled with static.

"...Daniel... crackle... you read me?... Daniel!"

It was Julian. His voice was laced with background static and the distant whine of a jet turbine.

Daniel pressed the receiver into his ear. "Julian! Where the hell are you?"

"Two miles out, skimming the wave tops in a modified Sea King!" Julian shouted over the comms. "We picked up the explosion at the conservatory! The British Coast Guard is being blocked by Syndicate diplomatic immunity channels in London—we’re on our own! Where are you?"

"Subterranean sea cave on the north cliff!" Daniel yelled, lifting Mason into his arms despite the blinding pain in his ribs. "They have an AW101 hovering outside the mouth and a heavy gun nest pinned on the egress! High tide is coming in—we have less than five minutes before the water cuts off our air!"