Chapter 10
The Narrows was a desolate stretch of abandoned shipping yards on the edge of the city. The salty, freezing wind whipped off the black water, rattling the rusted corrugated metal of the old warehouses.
A convoy of four matte-black SUVs cut their headlights, rolling silently to a stop at the edge of Pier 44.
Marcus stepped out into the freezing wind. He didn't wear a jacket. His dark suit jacket was unbuttoned, the wind catching his shirt. His deep, rich brown skin seemed to absorb the minimal light from the moon. Behind him, twenty heavily armed enforcers filed out of the vehicles, racking the slides of their assault rifles in terrifying unison.
"She's in Warehouse 7," Silas whispered, pointing to a massive, dimly lit structure at the end of the pier. "Thermal imaging shows about thirty hostiles inside. Romanov men. They are heavily fortified."
"Form a perimeter," Marcus commanded slowly. "Do not let a single boat leave that dock. Anyone who steps outside that warehouse dies."
"Are you waiting for them to surrender, Boss?" Silas asked.
"No," Marcus replied, pulling his primary weapon, a customized submachine gun, from the trunk of the SUV. "I am going inside."
"Boss, you can't go in alone. It's suicide."
Marcus turned his cold, intimidating eyes on his head of security. "This is family business, Silas. They tried to murder my blood. I will look Eleanor in the eyes when I take everything from her."
Without waiting for an argument, Marcus walked alone across the dark tarmac. The artistic tattoos on his neck were visible in the moonlight, marking him as the apex predator of the city.
He reached the heavy sliding doors of Warehouse 7. Through a crack in the metal, he could see Eleanor inside. She was pacing nervously, clutching a briefcase, surrounded by towering Russian mercenaries.
Marcus didn't sneak in. He raised his boot and kicked the rusted side door completely off its track with a deafening crash.
The thirty mercenaries spun around, raising their weapons. Eleanor froze, her pale skin turning completely ghostly as Marcus stepped into the warehouse.
"You missed your flight, Eleanor," Marcus said, his voice echoing through the massive space, low and lethal.
May you like
Eleanor smiled, a desperate, wicked grin. She raised her hand, holding a dead-man's switch connected to a massive pile of C4 explosive in the center of the room.
"If I don't leave this room, Marcus," she laughed hysterically, "neither do you."
