Chapter 3 - The Chemical TrapThe Mercedes tore through the rain-slicked alleys of South Boston, arriving at the dilapidated tenement building in record time. Lucas didn't wait for Harold to open the door. He shoved it open, the heavy armor slamming against the brick wall, and strode into the crumbling lobby with a drawn Glock 19.
Up three flights of stairs, the door to Apartment 3B hung off its hinges.
Dr. Vale stood in the center of a cramped, Spartan room, holding a medical kit. On a narrow cot, Clara Carter lay shivering violently, her skin flushed an unnatural, burning crimson. Her breathing was shallow, rattled with fluid.
"Status," Lucas commanded, stepping over the threshold.
"It’s not the flu, Boss," Dr. Vale wiped sweat from his forehead. "Someone slipped a micro-dose of a synthetic neurotoxin into her water supply three days ago. It mimics a high fever, shuts down motor functions, and causes delirium. It’s slow-acting, untraceable by standard hospital labs."
Lucas stepped closer to the bed. Clara’s eyes fluttered open. They were the exact shade of Emma’s—pale blue-gray, swimming with fever and a deep, crushing exhaustion.
"E... Emma?" Clara whispered, her voice like dry paper. "Where... where is my baby?"
"She's safe," Lucas said, his voice stripped of all its underworld menace, sounding starkly human. "She came to my house. She got you the job."
Clara tried to sit up, a sob breaking in her chest. "She shouldn't... she shouldn't have gone there. Marcus... Marcus said if I didn't get the Blackwood estate blueprint from your study... he'd take her away."
The air in the room instantly dropped to zero.
Lucas froze. The pieces clicked into a terrifying, flawless mosaic. The bomb under his car wasn't a random hit. It was phase one. Phase two was Clara—forced under threat to infiltrate his mansion, using her own desperate poverty as leverage. And when Clara fell too sick to go, her eight-year-old daughter stepped into the breach, completely unaware she was walking into the lion's den.
"Marcus Vance," Lucas murmured, his eyes turning black with a rage so profound it terrified even Harold.
"He has her kindergarten photos," Clara wept, clutching the thin blanket. "He said... he said if I didn't do it today, Emma would never come home from school."
Lucas leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Listen to me, Clara. Your daughter walked into a house full of killers today and wasn't afraid. She protected you. Now, I am going to protect both of you."
May you like
He stood up, pulling out his encrypted satellite phone.
"Vane. Gather the strike team. We’re burning Marcus Vance to the ground tonight."
