Chapter 6 - The Tide Turns
The iron stairs above them groaned under the weight of multiple men descending into the vault.
"Clear the corners!" a harsh, gravelly voice echoed down the stone stairwell. It was Declan Vance—harbor master, traitor, and now, aspiring king of Ironwood Bay.
Silas motioned for Nora to duck behind a heavy steel munitions cabinet in the far corner of the vault, pushing the two mastiffs down beside her with a quiet hand gesture. The dogs pressed their massive bodies against the floor, silent as statues, their amber eyes locked on the open stairway.
Silas stepped back into the shadows near the doorway, holding his pistol down by his thigh, blending into the damp stone walls like an apex predator waiting in a cave.
The heavy steel door at the top of the steps squeaked open.
A beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the rows of filing cabinets.
"Cade!" Declan’s voice echoed mockingly through the vault. "I know you're down here, old man! You and that little waitress. Give it up! The entire coast is locked down. The state police are already on their way, and they've got the video of the girl leaving you to freeze on the pier. You're finished!"
Silas didn't answer. He just waited.
Two men in heavy tactical gear stepped down onto the stone floor, their sub-machine guns raised, scanning the shadows.
As the second man passed the threshold, the black mastiff didn't even bark—it launched itself forward like a furry missile, slamming its massive jaws directly around the mercenary’s forearm with a sickening crunch of bone and tactical nylon.
The man screamed, dropping his weapon as the brindle mastiff lunged from the other side, pinning him instantly to the floor.
"What the—!" the first mercenary spun around, raising his rifle.
Bang.
Silas’s Colt roared in the confined space, a deafening explosion of sound and fire. The mercenary’s rifle flew from his hands as a round shattered his shoulder, spinning him around before he crashed hard against the concrete floor.
"Vance!" Silas called out, his voice cutting through the ringing silence of the vault like a razor. "Come on down and see your harbor now!"
A heavy pause hung in the air above. Then, the sound of slow, mocking applause echoed down the stairs.
Declan Vance stepped into the light of the lower landing. He wasn't holding a rifle; he was holding a heavy, black-powder revolver, and the barrel was pointed squarely at Nora’s head where she knelt behind the cabinet.
"Impressive, Silas," Declan sneered, a twisted grin splitting his weathered face. "You always were too stubborn to die. But let's see how much fight you've got left when the girl takes a bullet for you."
Silas froze, his pistol slowly lowering an inch. "Let her go, Declan. This is between you and me."
"It was never between us, old man," Declan laughed, tightening his finger on the trigger. "It was about who controls the coast. And now—"
Before Declan could finish his sentence, Nora didn't hesitate. She didn't scream, and she didn't beg.
With a sudden, fluid motion, she pulled the small, dull paring knife from her apron pocket and hurled it with every ounce of strength she had left.
The little lemon knife caught the dim beam of the flashlight, spinning through the air like a silver streak, and buried itself deep into the fleshy meat of Declan’s forearm.
Declan screamed, his hand jerking violently to the side as the heavy revolver went off, the bullet blasting harmlessly into the stone ceiling in a shower of sparks.
Silas didn't wait for a second invitation.
May you like
Bang.
His second shot caught Declan squarely in the knee. The traitorous harbor master shrieked, collapsing heavily onto the stone steps, his gun clattering down the iron rungs until it came to rest at Nora’s feet.
