Chapter 12 - The Wolf at the Door
"They tracked Mercer’s car," Marcus hissed, immediately grabbing an Ithaca 12-gauge shotgun from beneath the counter and racking a shell into the chamber. "The vehicle has an internal GPS transponder. I should have checked."
"It doesn't matter now," Jack said. The shock and grief that had weighed on his face evaporated instantly, replaced by the terrifying, cold calculating demeanor of a combat team leader under siege. "Where is your back exit?"
"Leads to the drainage canals behind the rail yard," Marcus replied. "There’s an old skiff tied to the pylon under the pier. It will take you across the river to the commercial district."
"Take Elena and go," Jack commanded, checking the magazine of his SIG Sauer and sliding an extra box of 9mm rounds into his tactical vest.
Marcus looked at him, his jaw tight. "Jack, there are at least eight men out there. That’s Liam’s heavy hit squad. You can't hold them alone in an enclosed warehouse."
"I'm not holding them," Jack said, his voice flat and dead. "I'm ending this."
Elena stirred on the gurney, reaching out a pale, bandaged hand toward Jack’s sleeve. Her voice was barely a breath, but her eyes were clear, focused with desperate awareness.
"Jack... no..." she whispered, tears spilling into the clean white gauze wrapped around her head. "Don't die for me... please..."
Jack leaned down, cupping her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tear. "I'm not dying for you, Elena. I'm living for you. Marcus will get you to the river. I will meet you at the old pier in thirty minutes. I promise."
He kissed her brow, turned to Marcus, and gave a sharp nod.
Marcus scooped Elena into his arms, blankets wrapped securely around her fragile frame, and kicked open the rear emergency door, disappearing into the torrential rain of the alleyway.
Jack stood alone in the center of the warehouse. He picked up an industrial jug of mineral spirits from the auto repair bay and deliberately poured it across the wooden workbenches, the chemical cabinets, and along the front entranceway.
Outside, the heavy steel door shuddered under the strike of a battering ram.
BANG.
Jack pulled a road flare from Marcus’s emergency kit, struck the striker cap, and held the roaring red flame in his left hand.
BANG.
The door hinges sheared. The steel door collapsed inward with a deafening crash, and four Blackwood contractors in full tactical armor poured into the room, their suppressed submachine guns raised, sweeping the space.
Behind them, stepping over the threshold with an umbrella held by a bodyguard, was Liam Vance, his face twisted in a mask of triumphant arrogance.
"End of the line, brother!" Liam yelled.
May you like
Jack dropped the burning flare onto the floor.
A wall of roaring fire detonated instantly across the entrance, cutting the warehouse in half with an impassable curtain of blinding, screaming orange flame.
