Chapter 8 - The Price of Greed
The sound of the crowbar smashing into the driver’s side window was like a gunshot.
Glass cascaded into the front cabin over Marcus's unconscious body. The man with the crowbar reached inside, attempting to unlock the heavy armored doors from the interior handle.
Adrian didn't wait. He leveled his weapon through the cracked passenger window and fired a single, controlled shot through the shattered opening.
The bullet caught the attacker in the right shoulder. The man shrieked, dropping the iron bar and tumbling backward onto the wet asphalt, clutching his bleeding arm in agony.
The second attacker, holding the revolver, cursed violently and fired two blind shots into the side panel of the Mercedes. The heavy armor plating absorbed the rounds with dull thuds, but the sound inside the enclosed cabin was deafening.
""Get out here, Moretti!"" the gunman screamed, ducking behind the rear wheel of the flatbed truck. ""Cole wants his money! You hand over the encrypted offshore drive, or both of you burn inside that car!""
Claire, huddled on the floorboards with her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, looked up at Adrian. His suit jacket was torn, blood staining his white collar, but his hands were steady as granite.
""He thinks the flash drive is in this car,"" Claire whispered, realization suddenly clicking into place. ""The files Ryan tried to frame me with—the real financial ledger. That's what they're after!""
""They won't get it,"" Adrian said coldly, checking the remaining rounds in his magazine. ""Sirens are already four blocks away. Marcus triggered the silent panic beacon the instant we were hit.""
In the distance, the faint wail of police sirens began to rise over the sound of the rain, growing louder with every passing second.
The gunman behind the truck heard them too. ""Damn it!"" he yelled, stepping out from behind cover to take aim at the gas tank beneath the rear chassis, clearly intending to incinerate the car before the authorities arrived.
Claire saw his boots through the shattered lower edge of the passenger door. Without thinking, running entirely on adrenaline and pure survival instinct, she kicked the buckled door outward with both feet using every ounce of strength in her legs.
The heavy, reinforced door swung open with a screech of bent steel, slamming directly into the gunman's knees.
The man screamed as his legs buckled beneath him, his revolver flying out of his hand and skittering across the slick asphalt into a storm drain.
Adrian stepped out of the vehicle like a wrathful specter. Before the hitman could recover his footing, Adrian slammed the butt of his weapon across the man's jaw with brutal, decisive precision. The attacker collapsed onto the wet pavement, completely out cold.
Within thirty seconds, four NYPD cruisers and two emergency medical vehicles screamed into the alleyway, their red and blue lights painting the brick walls in strobing flashes of crimson and azure.
Paramedics rushed forward, wrapping Claire in a heavy shock blanket and pulling Adrian toward an awaiting ambulance.
""Sir, you have a severe laceration on your skull—you need immediate stitches!"" an EMT insisted, holding a sterile gauze pad against Adrian's head.
Adrian brushed the medic's hands away, his eyes locked entirely onto Claire. He walked straight past the police officers, the flashing lights, and the crowd of gathering onlookers, stopping directly in front of her.
He pulled her into his arms, ignoring the blood, the rain, and the cameras of two local news vans that had just pulled onto the curb.
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""You took out a hitman with a car door,"" Adrian whispered into her hair, a breathless laugh escaping his throat despite the pain.
Claire buried her face in his neck, the scent of him grounding her back to reality. ""I told you on the dance floor, Adrian... I might be a terrible dancer, but I know how to survive."""
