Chapter 6 - THE SHADOWS OF PIER 49
The salt air of Pier 49 smelled of rust, diesel, and impending death.
Rain began to fall in heavy, stinging sheets.
Washing away the soot from the burning crates.
Nathaniel’s black armored SUV cut its headlights fifty yards from the main warehouse.
The engine died with a soft purr.
Inside, the cabin was dead silent.
Marcus checked the ammunition clip of his assault rifle.
Alma sat in the back seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the leather strap.
"You don't have to come in with us, Alma," Nathaniel said without turning around.
Alma shook her head firmly.
"They ruined my hair. They terrified Elodie."
"I want to see them pay."
Nathaniel gave a grim, humorless smile.
"Good answer."
He pushed open the passenger door and stepped into the freezing rain.
The warehouse door loomed ahead like the jaws of a leviathan.
Chained.
Locked.
Guarded by two armed mercenaries holding shotguns.
Marcus melted into the shadows like smoke.
Two muffled thuds.
Two bodies hitting the wet asphalt.
"Clear," Marcus’s voice hissed over the encrypted comms earpiece.
Nathaniel strode forward.
His dark trench coat billowed behind him in the coastal wind.
He kicked the rusted iron door open.
Bang!
The metal shrieked as it tore off its hinges.
Inside, towering stacks of shipping containers rose toward the corrugated roof.
Yellow work lights hummed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows.
"Nathaniel Rook!" a voice echoed through the cavernous space.
Amplified by a megaphone.
"You're late!"
Out from behind a red container stepped Marco.
The head chef.
No longer wearing his pristine white apron.
Instead, he wore a tactical vest and held a pistol pointed directly at Elodie’s head.
Elodie was tied to a steel chair in the center of the open floor.
Her mouth was taped shut.
Her eyes wide with terror as she saw her father.
"Daddy!" her muffled cry echoed through the warehouse.
Nathaniel stopped dead in his tracks.
His hands curled into tight fists.
Veins bulging in his forearms.
"Let her go, Marco," Nathaniel’s voice was deceptively calm.
Marco laughed maniacally, waving his pistol around.
"Not so fast, big boss!"
"You thought you ruled the city!"
"You thought you could crush everyone under your boot!"
"Drop your weapons! Both of you!"
From the upper gantry walkways, twenty armed men stepped out of the darkness.
Laser sights converged on Nathaniel’s chest.
A classic firing squad setup.
Marcus froze behind a stack of wooden crates, weapon still raised, waiting for the signal.
Nathaniel slowly unbuttoned his trench coat.
Letting it slide off his shoulders into the puddle below.
Wearing only a dark vest, revealing intricate tribal tattoos across his chest.
"You want the ledger, Marco?" Nathaniel asked, taking a step forward.
"I want everything!" Marco shrieked, saliva flying from his lips.
"The money, the docks, and your life!"
"And you..." Marco glared at Elodie.
"Your brat ruined my sister’s engagement to Vivian."
"This is for family honor!"
Nathaniel took another step.
Unfazed by the twenty red dots dancing across his skin.
"Family honor?" Nathaniel scoffed.
"You sold your soul for a fraction of what I pay my gardeners."
Marco’s face flushed red with humiliation.
He cocked the hammer of his pistol.
May you like
"Shut up! Move another inch and I blow her head off!"
Cliffhanger: As Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger, a sniper bullet pierced his right hand, shattering his bones and sending his pistol clattering across the concrete.
