Chapter 8 - The Bodega Owner
Clara froze, the heavy black duffel bag slipping slightly from her grasp.
S, the man who had sold her stale coffee and complained about the weather every morning for two years, was a paid informant for the syndicate.
“S, put the gun down,” Clara said, her voice shaking with adrenaline and betrayal.
“Isabella is going to kill you the second you hand over that ledger.”
“She doesn't leave loose ends.”
S swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold draft blowing through the shattered door.
“She promised me a flight out of the country, Clara.”
“I can finally retire.”
“I’m tired of living in this filth.”
He shifted his aim toward Victor Kaine, who was slumped against the kitchen counter, bleeding profusely from his torn stitches.
“Hand over the bag, Mr. Kaine,” S ordered nervously.
Victor didn't raise his hands.
He simply stared at the bodega owner with cold, calculating eyes.
“You’re a dead man, S,” Victor said softly, his voice devoid of any fear.
“Isabella’s men are probably already outside waiting for you to do their dirty work.”
S flinched, glancing nervously over his shoulder toward the dark street.
That split-second distraction was all Clara needed.
She grabbed the heavy crowbar she had used to pry up the floorboards and hurled it with all her strength directly at S’s chest.
The heavy iron bar smashed into his ribs with a sickening crunch.
S gasped in pain, his finger instinctively squeezing the trigger of the assault rifle.
A wild burst of suppressed gunfire tore into the ceiling of the apartment, showering Clara and Victor in plaster and dust.
Victor used his remaining strength to lunge forward, tackling the larger man to the linoleum floor.
Despite his massive blood loss, Victor’s ruthless survival instincts took over.
He pinned S’s arm down, wrestling the assault rifle from his grasp, and drove his elbow brutally into the bodega owner’s jaw.
S went completely limp, knocked unconscious on the kitchen floor.
Victor collapsed next to him, panting heavily, his face completely pale.
“Grab the bag, Clara,” Victor gasped, clutching his bleeding side.
“We have to move.”
“He probably already signaled Isabella’s hit squad.”
Clara grabbed the black duffel bag, hauling it over her shoulder.
She rushed to Victor, helping him up.
“You’re losing too much blood,” Clara panicked, seeing the fresh puddle forming on the floor.
“If I don't stitch you back up right now, you’re going to go into hypovolemic shock.”
“There’s no time,” Victor grunted, leaning heavily against her.
“We have to get to the extraction point.”
They stumbled out the back door into the dark, rain-soaked alleyway.
The sound of screeching tires echoed from the main street.
Isabella’s hit squad had arrived.
“This way,” Victor pointed toward the maze of chain-link fences and fire escapes that made up the Narrows.
They moved as quickly as Victor’s injuries allowed, slipping through the shadows while heavily armed men swarmed Clara’s apartment building.
They reached the armored SUV parked near the abandoned warehouse.
Clara shoved Victor into the passenger seat and threw the duffel bag into the back.
She jumped into the driver's seat and turned the key.
The engine roared to life.
“Where is the extraction point?” Clara asked, throwing the SUV into drive.
Victor pulled a burner phone from his pocket, dialing a secure number.
“The old shipyard on Pier 4,” Victor answered, his voice growing dangerously weak.
“I have a loyal contact waiting with a private boat.”
“He’ll take us out of the city, and we can hand the ledger over to the federal authorities.”
Clara floored the accelerator, speeding toward the docks.
The drive was agonizingly tense.
Victor’s head slumped against the window, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid.
He was slipping into unconsciousness.
“Stay awake, Victor!” Clara yelled, slapping his arm.
“You can't pass out on me now!”
Victor forced his eyes open, looking at her with a strangely soft expression.
“You’re a good doctor, Clara,” Victor murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into my war.”
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Before Clara could respond, a massive, bright spotlight suddenly illuminated the interior of the SUV.
A heavily armored tactical truck pulled out of a side street, ramming violently into the side of their vehicle.
