Chapter 4 - Blood and Iron
I didn't hesitate.
I opened the Escalade door and stepped out into the rain, walking slowly into the cone of light until I was standing thirty feet from Dominic Vance. Vic and Leo moved out behind me, their weapons raised, covering the flank sedans.
"Dominic," I said, my voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. "You look terrible for a dead man."
Vance’s eyes burned with a mixture of intense hatred and twisted triumph. "Look at you. Two years of brooding in that big, pathetic house, and you still dress like you own this city. You took my shipping lines, Julian! You made me a ghost!"
"You made yourself a ghost when you stole from my men," I replied, taking another deliberate step forward. "Where is Maya?"
Vance smiled, displaying a row of yellowed, crooked teeth. He gestured toward the Sprinter van behind him.
"She’s right behind me, Julian. She’s nine years old now. Doesn't look much like the little girl you dropped off at ballet class, but she’s got your eyes. She cries a lot, though. Kept asking for her daddy for the first six months. After that, she stopped talking altogether."
Every word was a poisoned needle driven directly into my heart, but I didn't let my expression flicker.
"Name your price, Dominic," I said softly. "You want the docks? They're yours. You want the real estate holdings in Chicago? Take them. You want my life? You can have it. Just step away from the van."
Vance’s laughter echoed hysterically through the warehouse. "You think this is about money?! You think I did all this for real estate?! I wanted you to suffer the way I suffered! I wanted you to know what it feels like to lose everything you built while you're still alive to see it!"
He raised his revolver, pointing it directly at my chest.
"I’m not going to trade her to you, Julian," Vance sneered. "I’m going to make you watch me blow up that van with your daughter inside it, and then I’m going to let my men spend the next hour putting bullets into you."
He reached into his pocket with his left hand, pulling out a small, red detonator switch.
"Leo! Now!" I roared.
A blinding flash of white light erupted from the rafters overhead as Leo’s hidden flashbang grenades detonated directly above Vance’s men.
The sound was deafening, a wall of pure sonic violence that shattered the warehouse windows and sent Vance’s guards stumbling backward, clutching their ears and eyes.
In that fraction of a second, I drew my Colt .45 and fired three shots.
The first bullet struck Vance’s right wrist, spinning the chrome revolver out of his grip. The second bullet tore through his left shoulder, knocking the red detonator into a puddle of oily rain.
"Vic! Secure the van!" I screamed over the sudden eruption of gunfire.
The warehouse degenerated into absolute war. Vance’s recovery guards, though disoriented, began blindly spraying automatic fire from behind their sedans. Vic moved like a shadow, dropping two gunners with precise, suppressed double-taps before sprinting toward the rear doors of the Sprinter van.
I surged forward through the smoke and muzzle flashes, driving my shoulder directly into Dominic Vance’s chest.
We hit the wet concrete hard. Vance snarled like a rabid dog, reaching for a hunting knife strapped to his belt, driving the blade upward toward my neck. I grabbed his wrist with both hands, twisting with all the weight of my body until I heard a sharp snap of bone.
Vance screamed in agony, but I didn't stop. I punched him repeatedly in the face, my fist striking his scarred cheek until his nose collapsed and his head bounced lifelessly against the stone.
"Where... is... she?!" I growled, pulling him up by his collar, my knife pressed firm against his throat.
Vance coughed up blood, a broken, hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "Look... look in the van... you fool..."
I threw him aside like a sack of trash and sprinted toward the back of the Sprinter van, where Vic was using a heavy iron crowbar to force the locked rear doors open.
"Boss! Stand back!" Vic yelled, leveraging the metal with all his strength.
With a loud screech of tearing iron, the van doors popped open.
I lunged inside, my hands trembling, my breath catching in my throat as I reached into the dark cargo interior.
"Maya!" I cried out. "Maya, it’s Daddy!"
The thermal camera had shown two heat signatures.
One was an old, terrified woman sitting tied to a wooden chair—a blind nurse Vance had hired to care for the child.
The other heat signature... was a small, high-definition television monitor mounted on a wooden crate, playing a live, looped thermal video feed of a little girl sitting in a small, windowless bedroom.
Beside the monitor lay a small electronic transmitter... and a countdown timer that had just reached zero.
The van wasn't rigged with explosives.
May you like
It was a decoy.
"Julian..." Vance’s rasping voice echoed from thirty feet behind me as he lay bleeding on the floor. "Did you really think... I’d bring your real prize to a dock in Indiana? She’s on a cargo boat... heading for international waters... and you'll never... find her..."
