Chapter 19 - The Slaughterhouse
The trap was set at an abandoned meatpacking plant in the Meatpacking District.
It was a cavernous, terrifying labyrinth of rusted hooks, stainless steel tables, and flickering fluorescent lights.
Harper stood in the center of the main slaughter room, her breath pluming in the freezing air of the refrigerated warehouse.
She was alone.
Or at least, that is what it looked like.
Roman and his remaining loyal men were positioned in the dark catwalks above, their weapons trained on the heavy steel doors.
Harper gripped the burner phone tightly in her pocket.
She had made the call.
She had planted the seed of absolute paranoia in Derek’s mind.
Right on schedule, the heavy metal doors ground open.
Derek walked in.
He looked frantic, sweaty, and terrified.
He was holding a heavy, silver revolver, aiming it directly at Harper.
Where are the ledgers, Harper? Derek demanded, his voice echoing off the bloody tiles.
You said Davis put my name on the accounts.
Give me the proof so I can go to the feds.
Harper did not move.
She stared at the man who had tormented her, manipulated her, and tried to kill her.
He looked so small now.
So pathetic.
There are no ledgers, Derek, she said calmly.
Derek froze, his eyes darting frantically around the empty room.
What?
Before he could process her words, the steel doors slammed shut behind him.
Davis stepped out from the shadows of the adjacent holding pen, flanked by four heavily armed cartel enforcers.
Davis laughed, a cruel, echoing sound.
You really are a stupid boy, Derek, Davis sneered.
Did you honestly think she wanted to help you?
Derek spun around, pointing the revolver at Davis.
You framed me! Derek screamed.
She told me you put the money in my name!
Davis sighed, rolling his eyes.
She lied to you to get you in this room, you idiot.
Davis raised his hand, signaling his men to execute Derek.
But before the cartel enforcers could raise their rifles, the fluorescent lights suddenly cut out.
The warehouse plunged into absolute darkness.
Now! Roman’s voice roared from the catwalks.
A deafening barrage of gunfire erupted from above.
The muzzle flashes illuminated the room in strobe-light bursts of violence.
Harper dropped to the floor, crawling beneath a heavy steel butchering table as bullets tore through the air.
She heard the screams of Davis’s men as Roman’s ambush decimated them.
Within thirty seconds, the gunfire stopped.
The emergency red backup lights flickered on, casting the slaughterhouse in a hellish crimson glow.
Davis’s men were dead on the floor.
Davis himself was on his knees, clutching a shattered shoulder, bleeding heavily onto the white tiles.
Roman climbed down the steel ladder from the catwalk, his pistol drawn.
He walked over to Davis and placed the barrel of the gun against the cartel boss’s forehead.
This is for my men at the penthouse, Roman whispered.
He pulled the trigger.
The echoing crack signaled the end of the Vargas cartel.
Harper slowly crawled out from under the steel table.
She stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans.
Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around her throat.
A cold steel barrel pressed against her temple.
Derek had survived the crossfire.
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Drop the gun, Falco! Derek screamed, using Harper as a human shield.
Let me walk out of here, or I blow her brains out!
