My Bratty Wife
Chapter 247 - Two Hundred And Forty Seven

Chapter 247: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Seven

The chill of the pre-dawn air did little to cool the feverish anticipation burning within Byron. He sat in his carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the uneven track a counterpoint to the frantic thrumming of his own heart. Beside him was Elias.

Byron meticulously reloaded his dueling pistol, the metallic clicks sharp and precise in the dim interior. Each movement was deliberate, a ritual before the hunt.

"Is the carriage making good time, Elias?" Byron asked, his voice a low, controlled hum. "We must reach those damnable ruins before Ryan does. Commander Thorne must not have his little chat with my dear brother. His secrets die with him tonight." Or, if Ryan was already there, both would die. The spy’s report had been clear: Ryan was meeting Thorne. Byron intended to intercept that meeting with fatal finality.

Elias, his gaze fixed on the passing darkness outside the carriage window, merely nodded. "We will arrive shortly, My Lord. The driver understands the urgency."

The ruins of St. Jude’s Chapel stood naked against the moon-drenched sky, a forgotten relic east of the city walls. Crumbling stone walls, overgrown with ivy and shadowed by old, gnarled trees, created an atmosphere of creepy desolation. It was the perfect place for secret meetings and for ambushes.

Byron’s carriage halted a discreet distance away, and he and Elias alighted, melting into the shadows like ghosts. They moved stealthy towards the chapel’s crumbling main entrance, a gaping archway that looked like the maw of some beast.

A lone figure stood just inside the archway, silhouetted against the faint light filtering from within the ruins. As Byron stepped into view, the figure turned. It was Thorne.

"Welcome, Your Grace," Commander Thorne greeted, his voice calm and steady as he opened the dilapidated door wider. He had clearly been expecting Ryan. "I have been waiting for your arrival."

Then, Thorne’s eyes focused properly on his visitor, and his polite, expectant expression froze. A flicker of something – surprise, perhaps, or recognition – hardened his features. "Lord Byron," he said, his voice now a low, dangerous rumble, lacking any form of welcome.

Byron allowed a small, chilling smile to play on his lips. He stepped inside the ruins, Elias following silently at his heels. The air within was damp and smelled of old stone and decay. "I’m sure you weren’t expecting me, Commander," Byron purred, his gaze sweeping the shadowed interior. "Or perhaps... you were?" He feigned a casual air, but his senses were on high alert.

Without warning, he raised his pistol and fired a shot into a deep alcove to his left, where a stack of fallen crates created a pool of impenetrable darkness. A muffled cry, a thud, and then silence.

He looked at Thorne, his smile widening. "Careless of Ryan to leave his men so obviously positioned. I bet there’s another one in this room, wouldn’t you say?" He smoothly swiveled, pointing his gun towards a shadowed recess on the opposite side of the ruined nave. He fired twice in quick succession. A grunt of pain, the clatter of a dropped rifle, and the distinct sound of another body collapsing heavily to the ground.

He killed a total of four guards, digging them out of their hiding place.

"How many more has dear Ryan stationed around to protect you, Commander?" Byron asked, his tone mocking. He now leveled his pistol directly at Thorne, who stood his ground, his face a mask of resolve. "You are a tough one to finally corner, I’ll grant you that."

Just then, Elias, who had slipped outside for a moment to check the perimeter after they’d entered, reappeared at Byron’s side. His face was smeared with fresh blood – not his own – and his breathing was slightly labored. He whispered urgently into Byron’s ear, a quick, concise report of neutralizing the outer guards Ryan had apparently posted. So, Ryan really sent protections. This was even better than Byron had hoped.

His smile became predatory. He looked back at Thorne, who watched him with an unwavering, almost contemptuous gaze. "It seems, Commander," Byron said softly, "that this is where our acquaintance must regrettably end. Your secrets are rather inconvenient. And I always make it a point to preserve my own." He began to apply pressure to the trigger.

But before he could fire, another gunshot, sharp and deafening, exploded through the ruins. It was not from Byron’s pistol.

Elias, who stood just beside and slightly behind Byron, gasped, a strange, surprised sound. He stumbled forward, his hands clutching at his chest where a dark stain was rapidly blooming on his waistcoat. He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the unforgiving stone floor.

"Elias!!!!" Byron shouted, his voice a raw cry of shock and disbelief. He spun around, his pistol still raised, searching for the source of the shot, his mind reeling. His aide lay dying at his feet.

Elias coughed, blood flecking his lips. He looked up at Byron, and to Byron’s utter astonishment, a chilling, almost triumphant smile spread across his dying attendant’s face. "It... it was a pleasure working with you, My Lord," Elias rasped, his voice weak but clear. "Thank you... thank you for helping me get... my revenge." With those deep, bewildering words, a final sigh shuddered through him, and Elias , Byron’s quiet confidant, lay still.

What just happened? What is all this?

Byron stared down at Elias’s lifeless body, his mind numb with confusion and a sudden, unexpected surge of... loss? The pistol felt heavy, cold in his hand. He sank slowly to his knees beside his fallen aide, the carefully constructed walls of his composure beginning to crumble.

It was then that figures began to emerge from the deepest shadows of the ruined chapel, from hidden alcoves and behind crumbling pillars. Ryan stepped forward first, his face pale and set, a pistol held steadily in his hand. Davis was at his side, and behind them, a dozen of Carleton’s most loyal household guards, armed and resolute, fanned out, effectively surrounding the remaining structure. The trap had been sprung.

Ryan looked at his brother, kneeling beside the body of his closest associate, the evidence of his murderous rampage fresh around him. The Duke’s voice, when he finally spoke, was laden with a pain so profound it was almost a physical entity in the cold, damp air, a voice that sounded as if it were on the very verge of breaking.

"Byron," Ryan said, his gaze fixed on his brother, a storm of sorrow, betrayal, and horrified disbelief swirling in his eyes. "Tell me this is all a lie. Tell me there is some other explanation for this... this madness. Please."