Chapter 7 - Alleyway CrossfireThe narrow brick walls of the alley turned into a shooting gallery in a matter of seconds. Two figures in dark tactical gear emerged from the mouth of the street, weapons raised, sweeping the shadows for targets.
Nathaniel didn't panic. He moved with the cold, calculated precision of a man who had survived decades of turf wars. He leaned around the edge of the dumpster, fired twice with absolute economy of motion, and one of the assailants dropped instantly, clutching a wounded shoulder before scrambling back behind a stack of wooden crates.
"Cover the flank!" a harsh voice shouted from the darkness. "The girl's here! Grab her and move!"
Wren pressed her back against the freezing brick wall. Panic clawed at her throat, but deep beneath the terror, a strange, sharp spark of her father’s stubbornness ignited in her chest. She wasn't going to be taken like a hunted animal.
Her eyes scanned the ground around her. Near the base of the dumpster sat an old, heavy iron milk crate left behind by the restaurant suppliers, filled with discarded heavy-duty glass soda bottles.
Without thinking, Wren grabbed two of the bottles, her fingers locking around the thick glass necks.
"Wren, stay down!" Nathaniel yelled over the sound of another incoming round that punched a hole through a nearby plastic recycling bin.
"I'm not a hostage!" she yelled back.
With a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength—the exact torque and muscle memory Nathaniel had just described—she hurled the first heavy glass bottle directly toward the stacked wooden crates where the second assailant was taking cover. The bottle shattered with an explosive crash against the wood, showering the shooter in flying glass and splintered timber.
The gunman cursed, momentarily blinded and off balance.
That single second was all Nathaniel needed. He stepped out from behind the dumpster, aimed with absolute stillness, and fired a precision shot that clipped the assailant's weapon, sending it clattering across the wet pavement.
"Hands behind your head!" Nathaniel commanded, closing the distance in three long strides and pressing the barrel of his gun against the man's temple.
The gunman froze, panting heavily, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. "You're... you're Vance," the man choked out, recognition flashing in his terrified eyes. "Boston's going to tear this whole city apart for that ledger."
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"Boston can try," Nathaniel replied coldly. He struck the man across the jaw with the heavy butt of his pistol, sending him crashing unconscious to the pavement.
Silence descended on the alley once more, save for the heavy panting of the giant mastiff and the distant wail of a police siren miles away.
