Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Black Harbor
Claire screamed as Dominic tightened his finger on the trigger.
""NOW!"" I roared.
In that microsecond, the entire electrical grid inside the warehouse exploded into darkness.
High-caliber sniper rounds shattered the skylights overhead, raining jagged shards of glass down onto the concrete floor. The sudden concussive roar of flashbang grenades blinded Dominic’s guards, turning the pitch-black warehouse into an inferno of white noise and deafening chaos.
Before the first muzzle flash could illuminate the room, I dropped low to the ground and surged forward.
I didn't reach for a weapon; I reached for the ankle holster I had kept concealed beneath my tailored trousers—a lightweight ceramic blade undetectable by standard pat-downs. I lunged blindly toward the sound of Dominic’s panicked shouting, slamming my shoulder directly into his midsection.
Dominic grunted in agony as we crashed onto the freezing concrete, his revolver discharging harmlessly into the wooden rafters above. I drove my forearm across his throat, pinning him to the floor, while my other hand drove the ceramic blade straight through the tendons of his right wrist.
Dominic shrieked in agony, dropping the weapon. ""Kill him! Vance, kill him!""
Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness like strobelights as Paulie’s assault team breached the perimeter doors. Tactical laser sights swept across the room, followed by the crisp, rhythmic cracks of suppressed rifle fire. Dominic’s men, disoriented and blind from the flashbangs, collapsed one by one against the rusting machinery.
""Claire!"" I screamed over the gunfire.
""Michael! Watch out!""
A heavy boot struck me violently across the temple, throwing me off Dominic. My head slammed against a steel support pillar, sending stars exploding across my vision.
I rolled onto my back just in time to see Victor Vance looming over me, his face twisted in feral hatred, his nickel-plated revolver aimed directly between my eyes.
""Goodbye, Rivers,"" Vance hissed, his finger squeezing the trigger.
A loud metallic crash echoed through the darkness. Claire, still tied to the heavy metal chair, had thrown her entire weight sideways, slamming the steel legs of the chair directly into Vance’s knees.
Vance lost his balance with a shout of surprise, his shot veering wide and gouging a deep crater into the concrete beside my ear.
That split-second distraction was all I needed.
I lunged upward from the ground, grabbing Vance’s wrist and wrenching it backward until the bone snapped with a sickening crack. As he screamed, I drove my elbow into his throat, stripped the revolver from his broken fingers, and fired two rounds into his chest.
Vance collapsed backward into a pool of icy sludge, motionless.
Around us, the gunfire abruptly ceased.
The harsh tactical floodlights from Paulie’s team flared to life, cutting through the smoke and haze. Dominic Moretti was crawling desperately across the floor toward the rear exit, leaving a smear of dark blood behind his ruined arm.
Paulie stepped in front of the exit, a tactical rifle resting casually against his hip, and aimed down at the groveling boss. ""End of the line, Moretti.""
I didn't care about Dominic. I dropped Vance’s weapon onto the floor and fell to my knees beside the overturned chair where Claire lay tangled in nylon ropes.
""Claire,"" I gasped, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I pulled my pocket knife to slice through her bindings. ""Claire, look at me. It's over. It's over.""
The thick cords fell away, and Claire slumped forward into my arms. Her skin was freezing, her clothes soaked in muddy water, but when she wrapped her trembling arms around my neck, burying her face into my chest, she was alive.
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""You came,"" she sobbed, her tears wetting my neck. ""Michael, you actually came...""
""I'm sorry,"" I whispered, holding her so tightly I could feel the fragile beat of her heart against mine. ""I'm so sorry, Claire. I'm never leaving you again.""
