Chapter 8 - The Warehouse
The revelation hit Vincent like a physical blow.
Claire Bennett was David Russo’s sister.
Rachel hadn't just set him up with a civilian; she had set him up with the sister of an organized crime detective.
Silas had chosen the perfect leverage.
Vincent nodded once to Russo and climbed back into the cab.
He gave the driver the address of an abandoned meatpacking facility in Queens.
It was Silas’s old stronghold.
Vincent paid the driver and stepped out into the industrial wasteland.
The rain had stopped, leaving the night air thick with fog.
Vincent checked his weapon.
He had one magazine left.
Fourteen bullets.
To take down Silas and Thomas, he would need to be flawless.
He bypassed the heavily guarded front gates and scaled a rusted fire escape on the side of the building.
He broke a frosted glass window on the second floor and slipped inside.
The warehouse smelled of old iron and damp concrete.
Vincent moved through the shadows with the silent grace of a predator.
He peered over the metal railing of the catwalk.
Down on the main floor, Silas was sitting at a folding table, smoking a cigar.
Thomas stood beside him, heavily armed.
And tied to a steel support column in the center of the room was Claire Bennett.
She looked exactly like her photograph.
Beautiful, even with a bruised cheek and a split lip.
Her gray eyes were fierce, completely devoid of the terror Silas usually inspired in his victims.
“Sign the papers, Calder!” Silas shouted into the empty warehouse, knowing Vincent was coming.
“I know you're out there!”
Vincent didn't answer.
He took aim from the catwalk.
He fired one shot.
The bullet shattered the overhead halogen light, plunging the warehouse floor into pitch darkness.
Chaos erupted.
Silas’s guards began firing blindly into the shadows.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark like a strobe light.
Vincent dropped from the catwalk, landing silently behind a stack of wooden crates.
He moved with lethal precision.
Two quick shots in the dark.
Two guards fell.
“Find him!” Silas screamed, his voice cracking with panic.
Vincent crept closer to the steel column.
He drew a combat knife from his ankle sheath.
He grabbed the guard standing closest to Claire, pulling him backward into the darkness and silencing him permanently.
Vincent stepped up behind Claire.
She gasped as he clamped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m Vincent,” he whispered in her ear.
“I have Emma.”
“She’s safe with David.”
Claire’s tense muscles instantly relaxed.
She nodded against his hand.
Vincent sliced the thick zip-ties binding her wrists.
“Stay low and move to the exit,” Vincent ordered quietly.
Before they could take a single step, the emergency backup lights suddenly flared on.
The warehouse was bathed in a sickly yellow glow.
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Thomas stood ten feet away, pointing an assault rifle directly at Claire’s chest.
“End of the line, boss,” Thomas sneered.
