Chapter 10 - THE CROSSFIRE ON THE CATWALK
The red laser dots danced across our chests like tiny drops of blood.
Julian didn't lower his rifle.
His muscles remained locked, every fiber of his body calculating angles, wind speed, and reaction time.
You think those men are loyal to you, Marcus? Julian asked, his voice steady as glass.
They're mercenaries.
They work for the highest bidder.
And I wired their offshore accounts ten minutes before we crossed the gate.
Marcus’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
His eyes flicked toward the catwalk above.
One of the armed enforcers raised his radio to his ear, listened for a second, and then slowly lowered his assault rifle, stepping back into the shadows.
Traitorous bastards! Marcus roared, spinning around to face the catwalk.
Viktor! Take care of them!
Viktor lunged forward, raising his heavy wrench to strike Clarissa across the face.
He won't be taking care of anyone today, I said.
I drew my sidearm in one fluid motion.
I didn't aim for Viktor's head.
I aimed straight at the overhead electrical housing directly above his greasy head.
*Bang.*
The gunshot cracked through the cavernous warehouse like thunder.
Sparks showered down in a blinding cascade of white and blue fire.
The heavy overhead transformer blew with a deafening pop, plunging three-quarters of the warehouse into absolute darkness.
Shouts of panic echoed from the catwalks.
Footsteps clattered wildly against iron stairs.
Julian moved in the dark with terrifying speed.
I heard the dull thud of a body hitting concrete, followed by the metallic clatter of a dropped weapon.
Get her! Julian shouted over the chaos.
I rushed forward through the pitch blackness, navigating by memory and the smell of ozone.
I found the metal chair.
Clarissa was screaming hysterically, thrashing against the zip-ties.
Shut up, I snapped, pulling a combat knife from my utility belt.
I sliced through the plastic bindings with two quick, precise strokes.
Get up!
She tumbled out of the chair, sprawling onto the cold concrete.
She grabbed the hem of my jacket with desperate, trembling fingers.
Nadia, help me! Don't leave me!
I pulled her to her feet, shoving her toward the side exit where the amber emergency light glowed faintly through the smoke.
Run! I ordered.
Don't look back!
She didn't need to be told twice.
She bolted toward the door like a wild animal escaping a burning forest.
A sudden beam of light cut through the gloom.
Viktor, his face blackened with soot and rage, lunged out from behind a stack of crates.
He had a hunting knife in his right hand, the steel gleaming wickedly in the dim light.
You little bitch! Viktor snarled, lunging straight toward my chest.
I didn't run.
I remembered my mother's sewing room.
I remembered the sound of the police boots on the floor.
I stepped directly into his rush.
As the knife came down, I pivoted on my heel, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it with all the body weight I had.
*Crack.*
Viktor let out a sharp, agonized howl as his wrist joint shattered.
Before he could recover, I drove the butt of my sidearm upward into his chin.
He dropped like a felled oak, unconscious before he hit the concrete.
I stood over him, breathing heavily, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Across the warehouse, the emergency generator kicked on, flooding the space in a harsh, clinical white light.
Julian stood over Marcus Vance, who was pinned facedown on the floor with Julian's boot pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.
It's over, Uncle, Julian said coldly, snapping steel handcuffs around Marcus's wrists.
The empire is gone.
Marcus spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirty floor, laughing hysterically.
You think you won, Julian? he wheezed.
You think marrying a kitchen maid makes you clean?
The blood on Pell Street is on all our hands!
Julian pressed his boot down harder, cutting off Marcus's laughter.
Not hers, Julian replied.
May you like
Hers was washed clean twenty-four years ago.
Now she's the one holding the judgment.
