Chapter 5 - THE SUBTERRANEAN HUNTThe drop was fifteen feet of slick, ice-cold iron.
I hit the shallow water at the bottom of the brick sewer main, my knees buckling as pain shot up my legs.
“Maya!” I hissed into the darkness, scrambling to my feet.
A tiny hand reached out through the blackness and gripped my arm. Maya was sitting on a narrow concrete ledge above the water, wet, shivering, but alive. I pulled her into my arms, hugging her so hard my own ribs hurt.
Above us, the heavy iron hatch vibrated as someone began kicking at it from the top of the chute.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
“We don't have much time,” I whispered, picking her up and carrying her down the dark brick tunnel.
The Chicago sewer system beneath the Loop is hundreds of miles of old brick conduits built in the 19th century. It was pitch black, lit only by the faint, eerie glow of streetlights filtering down through storm drains forty feet above our heads.
Every footstep echoed in the dark. Water dripped rhythmically from the ceiling.
I pulled out the gun Gabriel had given me earlier. My hands were freezing, my body shaking from exhaustion and fear. I didn't know if Gabriel was alive. I didn't know where my mother was. All I knew was that I was twenty-four years old, standing in a sewer with a target on my back and a silent seven-year-old child whose entire family was trying to kill each other.
We walked for twenty minutes, following the gentle slope of the concrete channel toward the Chicago River.
Suddenly, Maya pulled hard on my collar.
She pointed behind us.
Far down the tunnel, two narrow beams of bright white light cut through the darkness. Flashlights.
“They’re in the chute,” I whispered.
We hurried our pace, moving faster down the slippery walkway. Up ahead, I saw a metallic glint—a massive storm grate leading out to the main branch of the Chicago River. Outside, the night sky was dark blue, and the neon lights of the city reflected on the water’s surface.
We were almost out.
Then, a shadowy figure stepped out from the darkness directly in front of the storm grate.
“Going somewhere, Tate?”
My heart stopped.
The man stepped into the faint light streaming through the grate. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket over a rumpled work suit. His face was bruised, his posture slouching with that familiar, petty arrogance.
It was Gavin.
He wasn't holding a clip-board anymore. He was holding a heavy steel crowbar, and behind him stood two men with silenced handguns.
“Gavin,” I said, slowing my steps and raising the weapon Gabriel had given me. “You really sold out a little girl for a promotion?”
Gavin laughed—a bitter, pathetic sound that echoed off the damp brick walls. “Promotion? Richard Vance offered me half a million dollars just to make sure you didn't leave that restaurant with her! Do you know what half a million dollars does for a guy like me? I don't ever have to wipe down a table again!”
“You’re a sick coward,” I said, taking a step forward, keeping the gun leveled at his chest.
“Put the gun down, Cassidy,” Gavin sneered, taking a step toward us. “You’re a waitress. You’ve never shot a man in your life. You don't have the stomach for it.”
Behind us, the flashlights were getting closer. The sound of heavy boots sloshing through the water echoed through the tunnel.
We were trapped.
Maya looked up at me. Her eyes weren't filled with fear anymore. They were filled with something else. Resolve.
She reached down, picked up a heavy, jagged piece of broken brick from the ledge, and threw it with all her small strength directly at Gavin’s face.
It caught him right across the bridge of his nose.
Gavin screamed, dropping the crowbar as blood erupted from his face. “You little bitch!”
May you like
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
I squeezed the trigger.
