Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
The storm had settled into a relentless, driving rain by the time Jackson reached the downtown area. He drove his reinforced black SUV through the empty streets, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Beside him sat Jasmine.
She had refused to stay in the safe room. When Jackson had told her about Marcus and the ledger, she had looked him dead in the eye and said, "Marcus is family, Jackson. We don't leave family behind. And I am the only one who knows the secondary backup code to access the ledger's encrypted drives."
Jackson had tried to argue, but the look of fierce, unyielding devotion in her eyes had silenced him. She was his queen. She stood beside him, always.
They arrived at the North Philadelphia community center. The half-finished brick structure rose like a silent sentinel in the dark, the skeletal steel frames of the upper floors silhouetted against the stormy sky.
Jackson checked his tactical vest, checking the magazine of his weapon before sliding it into his holster. He looked at Jasmine, his hand reaching over to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her soft skin.
"Stay in the car, Jasmine," Jackson murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "If this goes sideways, I need you to take Harper and run. Robert has the secondary accounts secured. You will be safe."
"I am not running, Jackson," Jasmine said, leaning her forehead against his. "We walk into the light together. Or we don't walk at all. Now go. Save our brother."
Jackson slipped out of the vehicle, his massive frame instantly disappearing into the dark, rain-soaked entrance of the community center.
The interior of the building was a labyrinth of exposed concrete walls, hanging electrical wires, and pools of rainwater. The only sound was the rhythmic dripping of water from the ceiling and the distant, deep hum of a generator.
He followed the faint light coming from the main gymnasium.
In the center of the vast, empty room, Marcus was tied securely to a heavy steel chair. His face was bruised and bloodied, but his eyes were wide and alert as he saw Jackson approach.
"Jackson, it’s a trap!" Marcus shouted, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "He doesn't want the ledger! He wants—"
Before Marcus could finish, a heavy iron grating crashed down behind Jackson, sealing the entrance to the gymnasium.
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From the high metal catwalks above, Alistair Vance stepped into the light, a cold, triumphant smile on his face.
"Welcome to the arena, Jackson," Vance called down. "I hope you brought the ledger. Because the clock is ticking."
