Chapter 7 - The Rival's Shadow
Sal smiled thinly as he approached the driver’s side of the bulletproof SUV.
He tapped the barrel of his assault rifle against the reinforced glass.
“Step out of the vehicle, Boss,” Sal shouted over the hum of the warehouse generators.
Brooklyn’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“He betrayed you,” she whispered.
Winston didn't look panicked.
He looked completely, terrifyingly calm.
“Sal has been skimming from the shipping contracts for two years,” Winston said softly.
“I knew he was stealing. I didn't know he was working with your pathetic brother-in-law.”
Winston reached under the dashboard and pulled out a heavy tactical shotgun.
“Keep your head below the dashboard,” he ordered Brooklyn.
“Are we going to fight our way out?” she asked, terrified.
Winston shook his head.
“The glass can take a few minutes of concentrated fire, but we are outgunned.”
Sal slammed the butt of his rifle against the window again.
“I said get out, Winston!” Sal barked.
“Corey Whitfield promised me a fifty percent cut of the shipping port once the wife is confirmed dead.”
Winston rolled the window down exactly one inch.
“You’re backing the wrong horse, Sal,” Winston warned smoothly.
“Corey is a coward, and you are going to die in this warehouse.”
Sal laughed harshly.
“I have twelve men here, Winston. You have a dead waitress.”
Sal raised his hand, preparing to signal his men to open fire on the vehicle.
Brooklyn closed her eyes, bracing for the deafening sound of shattered glass and gunfire.
But the gunfire didn't come from Sal’s men.
It came from the skylights above.
A sniper bullet shattered the warehouse ceiling, striking the concrete mere inches from Sal’s boot.
Sal flinched, stumbling backward in sudden panic.
“Hold your fire!” Sal screamed to his confused men.
Winston smirked, keeping his hands loosely on the steering wheel.
“Did you really think I would drive into a blind location without a guardian angel?” Winston mocked.
Red laser sights suddenly pierced the dusty air of the warehouse, painting the chests of all twelve mercenaries.
Winston’s elite strike team had already infiltrated the rafters before they even arrived.
Sal dropped his rifle, raising his hands in immediate, cowardly surrender.
“Wait, Winston, we can negotiate this,” Sal begged, his bravado entirely gone.
Winston rolled the window down completely and rested the barrel of his shotgun on the door frame.
“I don't negotiate with men who threaten women,” Winston said coldly.
He pulled the trigger, firing a non-lethal rubber slug directly into Sal’s knee.
Sal collapsed with a shriek of agony.
Winston’s men descended from the catwalks, quickly zip-tying the remaining mercenaries.
Winston stepped out of the SUV and hauled Sal up by his collar.
“Where is Corey Whitfield hiding?” Winston demanded.
Sal groaned, clutching his shattered knee.
“He isn't hiding,” Sal spat blood onto the floor.
“He and Bradley are at the hospital right now.”
Brooklyn opened her door and stepped out.
“Why are they at the hospital?” she demanded.
Sal offered a bloody, wicked grin.
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“Because Cassandra went into early labor from the stress of your little cherry pie stunt.”
“Bradley is about to become a father, and your legal claim to the port is about to vanish.”
