Chapter 3 - The Price of Terror
The drywall cracked behind Wayne’s head with a sharp, splintering sound. He let out a choked gasp, his hands flying up to grab Elliot's wrist, his legs kicking uselessly in the air as Elliot held him six inches off the floor with a single arm.
The three men against the wall made a collective movement to run toward the back door, but Elliot's primary enforcer, Marco, stepped into their path. Marco didn't draw a weapon; he simply unbuttoned his overcoat, revealing the heavy shoulder holster underneath, and gave them a look that promised a swift, quiet death if they moved another inch. They immediately froze, their faces pale with terror.
"Please..." Wayne choked out, his face turning a dark, dangerous shade of purple as his throat was crushed beneath Elliot's grip. "Please..."
"I don't like bullies, Wayne," Elliot said, his voice entirely conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than extinguishing a man's air supply. "When I was seven years old, a man very much like you used to come into my mother's kitchen. He used to make a lot of noise, just like you did tonight. And nobody ever came when I cried."
Elliot leaned closer, letting Wayne see the absolute lack of mercy in his gray eyes.
"But Lizzie cried tonight, and I answered," Elliot whispered. "That means your lease on life has just expired."
Elliot released his grip, letting Wayne drop to the floor in a heap, coughing and gasping for air. Before Wayne could recover, Elliot turned to Marco.
"Take him to the docks," Elliot ordered, wiping his hand with a clean linen handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. "The concrete company needs some extra ballast for the deep-water foundations near Pier 42. Ensure he is completely quiet before he enters the water."
"No! No, please!" Wayne shrieked, dragging himself backward across the carpet on his elbows, his eyes wide with horror as Marco and the second security guard stepped forward. They didn't listen to his begs. They picked him up by his armpits, dragging him out into the pouring rain as if he were nothing more than a heavy bag of garbage. His screams were swallowed instantly by the roaring storm outside.
Elliot turned his gaze to the remaining three men who were cowering in the corner. They had fallen to their knees, their hands clasped together in desperate prayer.
"We didn't touch her, Mr. Pierce! We swear!" one of them wept, his nose running with fear. "We just came for the beer! Wayne said he had money! We didn't hit nobody!"
"You sat in this room while a woman was beaten into a coma," Elliot said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hairs on their necks stand up. "You watched a seven-year-old child run out into a thunderstorm because she was terrified for her mother's life. In my city, indifference is just as expensive as the crime itself."
He looked at Marco, who had returned from the driveway.
"Break their right hands," Elliot commanded. "Every single bone. Then throw them into the alley behind the precinct. If I ever see their faces in the North Sector again, the treatment won't be so gentle."
As the sounds of cracking bone and agonized screams filled the small house, Elliot walked back over to where Dr. Harding was securing Clara onto a portable stretcher.
"Is she ready to move?" Elliot asked.
"Yes," Harding nodded, wiping his brow. "My private clinic is prepared. We can have her in an ICU bed within twenty minutes. But Elliot... what about the child?"
May you like
Elliot looked out the front door toward the Bentley, where Lizzie was sitting in the back seat, her face pressed against the glass, watching the house through the rain.
"She stays with me," Elliot said, picking up his folded suit jacket from the chair. "Until her mother wakes up, she is under the protection of the Pierce family. And God help anyone who tries to change that."
