Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Harbor Bakery
The front display window of the Sunrise Bakery had been kicked in. Shards of glass covered the sidewalk, mixed with spilled flour and overturned wire racks of warm baguettes.
Marin slammed on the brakes, laying the motorcycle down on its side against the curb. She didn't wait for Gabriel; terror for her sister overrode every instinct of self-preservation. She vaulted over the counter, the heavy pistol clutched in both hands, her boots crunching through broken glass.
"Delphine!" she screamed, her voice cracking with pure panic.
Inside, the bakery was a disaster. Sacks of sugar were slashed open, the cash register was ripped from the counter and smashed onto the tile, and behind the prep counter, nineteen-year-old Delphine Doyle was curled in a ball on the floor, weeping hysterically, her apron soaked in milk and flour.
Standing over her was Frankie, holding a heavy iron tire iron in one gloved hand. Across the room, Viktor was rummaging through the back office, tossing ledgers and personal files onto the floor.
"Well, look who decided to punch in for her shift," Frankie grinned, turning slowly toward Marin. He raised the tire iron. "You cost me a lot of money last night, little delivery girl."
"Step away from her," Marin said, her voice shaking violently as she raised the pistol with both hands, aiming directly at Frankie's chest.
"You won't pull that trigger," Frankie sneered, taking a slow, heavy step forward. "I know your file. You're a medic. You cry when birds hit your windshield. Put the toy down before I break both your sister's legs."
"I said step back!" Marin cried out.
Before Frankie could take another step, a towering shadow filled the broken doorway behind Marin. A cold, flat voice cut through the flour-dusted air like a guillotine.
"She won't shoot you, Frank," Gabriel said softly. "But I certainly will."
Frankie froze, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated terror as he saw Gabriel Ashworth standing on two feet, alive, wrapped in an oil-stained work jacket, with a black pistol leveled dead between his eyes.
"G-Gabriel..." Frankie stammered, all the bravado draining from his face until he turned the color of raw dough. "You... you were under the mud. The tide took the hole..."
"You forgot rule number one of harbor work, Frankie," Gabriel whispered, stepping into the bakery with slow, deliberate footsteps. "Always check the pulse before you put the shovel back in the trunk."
From the back office, Viktor heard the voice and came bursting through the swinging doors, his gun already raised.
Crack! Crack!
Gabriel fired twice with terrifying speed. The first round caught Viktor in the shoulder; the second punched through his knee. Viktor collapsed with a high-pitched shriek, his weapon skittering across the floorboards.
Frankie dropped the tire iron immediately, dropping to his knees and throwing his hands into the air. "Gabriel, wait! Please! It was Marcus! He paid us fifty grand each! He said if we didn't do it, he'd kill my family! It was all Marcus!"
Gabriel stepped forward until the barrel of his weapon rested directly against Frankie’s forehead. His expression remained completely devoid of emotion.
May you like
"I know," Gabriel said softly.
He didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he brought the heavy butt of the gun down across Frankie’s temple with brutal, precise force. Frankie crumpled sideways into a pile of spilled flour, out cold.
