Chapter 6 - DOCK 4The rain was lashing down in sheets when our armored SUV smashed through the rusted chain-link gate of Dock 4. The wind howled off the dark Hudson River, carrying the smell of salt, rust, and impending death.
Warehouse B loomed ahead like a tombstone in the dark.
"If we go in through the front, they’ll execute Leo before we clear the threshold," I said, cutting the engine as we parked in the shadows of a stack of shipping containers.
"We don't go through the front," Clara said, already unbuttoning the restrictive top buttons of her emerald gown and tearing the long velvet hem off with a sharp rip to free her legs for combat. The sight of her stripping away her society disguise to reveal a hardened, tactical warrior beneath sent another violent surge of adrenaline through my veins. "There’s a ventilation shaft on the roof. It leads directly to the catwalk above the central office."
I stared at her in disbelief. "How do you know that? This is a private syndicate black site."
"My father built the theatrical rigging for this entire district before the mob took it over," she snapped, pulling a suppressed pistol from her garter belt and checking the magazine with expert precision. "Move, Dante. My brother has three minutes."
We scaled the rusted exterior fire escape in silence, the rain soaking through our clothes. When we reached the roof, I used my combat knife to silently pry open the rusted grate of the ventilation shaft.
We dropped silently into the dim, cavernous rafters of Warehouse B.
Below us, tied to a chair under a harsh yellow halogen light, was a young man with dark curls identical to Clara’s. A crude explosive vest was strapped to his chest, its digital countdown glowing a malevolent red: 01:15... 01:14...
Standing over him with a remote detonator was a scarred brute I recognized as one of Vance’s top enforcers, flanked by two others.
"Tell your sister she picked the wrong war," the brute sneered at Leo.
Leo spat blood onto the concrete floor. "Go to hell."
I looked at Clara beside me in the rafters. Her face was an unreadable mask of pure ice, but her finger was locked steady on the trigger of her suppressed pistol.
"On my count," I whispered into her ear. "Three. Two. One."
Two simultaneous puffs of compressed air hissed in the dark.
Down below, the two flanking guards dropped instantly, bullet holes blossoming in their foreheads before they could even draw their weapons.
The head enforcer whipped around in sheer panic, raising his shotgun toward the catwalk, but before he could pull the trigger, Clara dropped straight out of the rafters like an avenging angel, landing squarely on his shoulders and driving her stiletto heel straight into his collarbone with a sickening crunch.
The enforcer screamed, collapsing to the floor unconscious.
I hit the ground rolling, sprinting across the concrete to Leo. The timer on his chest read 00:18... 00:17...
"Hold still," I snarled, pulling out my multi-tool and peering at the frantic wiring.
"Don't cut the red one!" Leo gasped, shivering violently. "That's what Vance said!"
"Vance is a sadist who lies for fun," I muttered, my hands steady as I traced the power lines. With one swift snip of my wire cutters, the red LED display blinked dark.
The timer died at 00:04.
Silence descended on the warehouse, broken only by the sound of heavy rain drumming on the tin roof.
Clara dropped to her knees beside her brother, untying the ropes with frantic, shaking hands. "Leo! Oh, thank God..."
Leo pulled her into a tight embrace, coughing softly. "Clara... what is happening? Who is this guy?"
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I stood up, sliding my pistol back into my holster, my eyes fixed on the entrance as sirens began to wail in the distance.
"He’s your new brother-in-law," I said coldly.
