Chapter 5 - Fire on the Tracks
The red laser dot shifted from the concrete floor, danced across the hood of the SUV, and settled squarely on the center of Amelia’s forehead. Her breath trapped in her throat. The world seemed to slow down into horrifying clarity: the smug, gold-toothed grin on Moretti's face, the condensation steaming from the snipers' breath in the high rafters, and the lethal stillness that overtook Damen Blackwood.
""Now, Damen,"" Moretti drawled, rocking back on his heels with sickening confidence. ""Hand her over quietly, and maybe I let you ride back to your ivory tower in one piece.""
Damen didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands. ""You spent six months bribing my transport captains, Salvatore. You spent a fortune hiring Ukrainian guns to line those rafters."" A low, venomous chuckle rumbled in Damen's chest. ""Did you really think I didn't know who bought those thermal scopes two weeks ago?""
Moretti's smile faltered. ""What?""
Damen raised his left hand and snapped his fingers once.
A thunderous crack tore through the hangar. Up on the northern catwalk, a body tumbled through the darkness, crashing fifty feet down onto the rusted tracks with a sickening thud. Before Moretti’s men could register the sound, three more muted cracks echoed from the shadows of the skylights. The red laser dots vanished instantly, replaced by the brilliant emerald beams of Damen's own counter-snipers painting Moretti’s mercenaries.
""Down!"" Damen roared, his arm wrapping around Amelia’s waist like an iron band.
He tackled her to the concrete just as the hangar erupted into pure pandemonium. Automatic gunfire chewed through the sheet metal of the vehicles, sparking violently against the Kevlar-lined panels of the SUV. The noise was deafening, a relentless drum of war that rattled Amelia's teeth in her skull. Shards of safety glass showered over them like frozen rain.
Damen covered her completely with his body, his heavy overcoat taking the brunt of the flying debris. ""Marcus! Cover the flank!"" he shouted into his lapel microphone, his pistol clearing its holster in a single fluid blur. Over Amelia's trembling shoulders, Damen fired three controlled shots. Twenty yards away, two of Moretti's advance shooters dropped instantly behind a stack of wooden pallets.
""Damen!"" Amelia screamed, her hands clutching his lapels, smelling the sharp, chemical sting of cordite and burning rubber. ""We're going to die here!""
""You're not dying on my watch,"" he snarled against her ear, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing with a feral, terrifying brilliance. ""Stay under the chassis. Marcus, move her now!""
Marcus lunged forward under the hail of ricocheting bullets, grabbing Amelia by the tactical collar of her coat and dragging her behind the armored rear tire of the vehicle. Through the smoke and muzzle flashes, Amelia watched Damen move. He wasn't the tired, quiet man who drank black coffee while staring out a bakery window. He was a force of calculated destruction, moving from cover to cover with lethal, terrifying grace, driving Moretti’s remaining crew back toward the rail yard exits.
Moretti was already scrambling into the back of his armored sedan, screaming hysterically at his driver as the vehicle reversed out of the hangar, tires smoking and throwing gravel.
""He's running!"" Marcus yelled, firing a volley to suppress the remaining snipers.
""Let him run,"" Damen’s voice cut through the gunfire like a blade. He stood amidst the rising smoke, his gun smoking, his chest heaving. The hangar fell into an eerie, ringing silence, broken only by the groaning of warped metal and the distant sirens wailing across the city.
Damen turned and walked back toward the SUV, discarding his empty magazine and slamming a fresh one home without breaking stride. But as he reached Amelia, his step hitched. He staggered slightly, catching himself against the hood.
Amelia scrambled to her feet, ignoring Marcus’s hand. Her eyes dropped to Damen’s side. Dark, thick crimson was rapidly spreading across the crisp white fabric of his shirt beneath his open coat, dripping onto the snowy ground.
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""Damen!"" she cried, her hands flying to the wound. The warm, metallic scent of his blood flooded her senses.
He looked down at her terrified face, a faint, exhausted smirk touching his pale lips. ""Look at that..."" he whispered, his knees buckling slightly before she caught his weight against her shoulder. ""You're still wearing... that damn brave lipstick.""
