Chapter 7 - THE TURN OF THE TIDE
Blood splattered against the steel container behind Marco.
His piercing scream echoed off the metal walls.
"My hand! My hand!" Marco shrieked, cradling his shattered wrist as bone fragments protruded through skin.
Marcus’s voice crackled over the comms: "Sniper neutralized the shooter. Boss, make your move."
Nathaniel didn't wait.
He crossed the distance between them with terrifying speed.
Before the gantry guards could adjust their aim, Nathaniel drew his twin handguns.
Two deafening cracks split the air.
The overhead work light above the guards shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.
Total darkness plunged the warehouse into chaos.
Shouts of panic erupted from above.
Muzzle flashes lit up the rafters like angry fireflies.
Bullets pinged harmlessly off the concrete floor around Nathaniel.
He didn't fire back blindly.
He moved through the shadows like a ghost.
Trained in the brutal black-ops units before he built the Rook syndicate.
"Daddy!" Elodie cried out in the dark.
"I'm coming, little bird," Nathaniel’s voice answered from right beside her.
Click.
The duct tape over Elodie’s mouth was ripped away with one sharp yank.
Followed instantly by the heavy steel cable ties binding her wrists.
"Hold onto my back, Elodie," Nathaniel commanded softly, lifting her effortlessly.
"Close your eyes and hold tight."
Elodie buried her face in his neck, wrapping her small arms securely around his broad shoulders.
"I've got you," Nathaniel whispered.
Suddenly, a heavy spotlight clicked on from the mezzanine.
Blinding white light flooded the central floor.
Marco, clutching his bleeding hand with his left arm, pointed a backup pistol straight at Nathaniel’s back.
"Going somewhere, Rook?" Marco snarled, blood dripping from his fingers.
Nathaniel turned around slowly, carrying Elodie shielded against his chest.
He didn't look scared.
He looked disappointed.
"You should have stayed in the kitchen, Marco," Nathaniel said.
Marco pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty chamber.
Marco’s eyes widened in horror.
"What—?"
Alma stepped out from behind a nearby forklift.
Holding Marco’s dropped magazine in her hand, smiling coldly.
"Looking for this?" Alma asked sweetly.
Before Marco could react, Marcus dropped from the upper gantry directly behind him.
A heavy steel pipe crashed down across the back of Marco’s skull.
Marco crumpled instantly.
Unconscious.
Out of the fight.
Silence returned to the warehouse, broken only by the rhythmic patter of rain on the roof.
Nathaniel exhaled slowly, adjusting Elodie in his arms.
"Let's go home, Elodie," Nathaniel murmured.
"Wait," Elodie whispered, pointing toward the dark corner of the warehouse near the loading dock.
"There’s someone else hiding over there."
Nathaniel’s eyes snapped toward the shadows.
A muffled whimpering sound drifted across the damp concrete.
Marcus swept his flashlight beam across the crates.
Revealing a trembling, bound figure tied to a wooden pallet.
It wasn't a Moriarty mercenary.
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It was someone they all thought was locked safely in the West Wing.
Cliffhanger: As Marcus kicked the pallet around, the light revealed a terrified Vivian Cross, duct-taped and gagged, with a timer strapped to her chest counting down from sixty seconds.
