Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Docks
Derek Ward had not died in the lake.
The two lieutenants tasked with drowning him had been loyal to his father’s old regime, but they were also susceptible to greed. Derek had promised them a secret offshore vault containing twenty million dollars in cartel blood money—on the condition that they let him crawl out of the icy waters near Gary, Indiana.
Maimed, broken, and driven completely insane by vengeance, Derek had spent the last ninety days hiding in the condemned warehouse district, surrounded by rogue cartel remnants and bitter dockyard mercenaries who wanted the old, dirty days back.
It happened on a cold Tuesday in November.
Elliott Ward was traveling to Springfield for a legislative hearing regarding the clean-energy port bill. His motorcade was ambushed on Interstate 55 by three dump trucks loaded with crushed gravel. The collision was catastrophic. Elliott survived, but he was rushed to Northwestern Memorial Hospital in critical condition with multiple internal injuries.
Rowan and I were at the port reviewing the installation of new automated gantry cranes when the news reached us.
""It's a distraction,"" Rowan said immediately, his face draining of color. His fingers instantly went to his kinetic bracelet on my wrist. ""Derek didn't attack Father to kill him. He attacked Father to draw the security detail away from the central port infrastructure.""
Before we could summon our private security, the warehouse sirens began to wail.
The power to the entire four-hundred-acre terminal cut out, plunging the cold docks into pitch blackness. Heavy iron security gates slammed shut, locking us inside the primary container terminal.
From the shadows of the towering shipping containers emerged twenty armed men, led by Derek Ward.
Derek was unrecognizable. His face was scarred, his right arm rested in a makeshift sling, and his eyes burned with the unhinged mania of a rabid beast.
""Welcome home, cousin!"" Derek screamed, his voice amplified through the terminal’s intercom system. ""You think you can turn my empire into an eco-friendly playground? You think this little gutter rat can take my birthright?""
Rowan pushed me behind a steel stanchion, his body rigid. The howling sirens and flashing red emergency strobes were violently triggering his sensory receptors. He grabbed his temples, groaning in agony as the disorienting lights bounced off the wet asphalt.
""Rowan, look at me!"" I begged, grabbing his face with both hands, trying to shield his eyes from the pulsing red lights.
""The strobes..."" Rowan gasped, his teeth grinding. ""Flicker rate is eighteen hertz... inducing vestibular seizure...""
Derek stepped into the light fifty yards away, holding a high-caliber assault rifle.
""I'm going to shoot her kneecaps off, Rowan!"" Derek taunted, laughing like a demon. ""I'm going to make you watch her bleed out on the cold concrete while you rock back and forth like the freak you are!""
Rowan fell to his knees, his hands trembling violently.
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I looked at the terminal layout. I looked at the crane controls twenty feet above us on the maintenance catwalk. The blueprints Rowan had made me memorize flashed through my mind like blazing neon signs.
""You want a freak, Derek?"" I hissed under my breath. ""Let's see how you handle an architect.""
