Chapter 6 - The Trap at the DocksThe Yonkers waterfront at 3:45 a.m. was a desolate wasteland of rusted shipping containers, flickering halogen streetlights, and the cold, metallic smell of the Hudson River.
Dominic’s black bulletproof SUV rolled to a silent stop behind a row of towering green cargo containers. Marcus killed the headlights and the engine, plunging the vehicle into sudden darkness.
In the back seat, I peered out the frosted window. A few hundred yards ahead stood Warehouse 4—a sprawling, corrugated-metal building with broken windows and a rusted sliding door left slightly ajar. A single beat-up sedan sat parked near the entrance.
“That’s his car,” Marcus whispered from the front passenger seat, checking the clip of his Sig Sauer. “Arthur’s ride.”
Dominic sat in the driver’s seat, his face illuminated faintly by the dashboard lights. He was checking his Glock with practiced, lethal precision. Before opening his door, he turned back to look at me in the rear seat.
“Stay in this vehicle, Rachel,” he ordered, his voice carrying an absolute, non-negotiable command. “If you hear gunfire, you lock the doors, put the vehicle in reverse, and you drive straight out of here. Do you understand?”
“Dominic—,” I started.
“Promise me,” he interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the breath right out of my lungs.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”
He gave a sharp nod, then slipped out into the cold night air, followed closely by Marcus and four armed security operatives who had pulled up in the second SUV. They melted into the shadows of the shipping containers like ghosts.
I sat alone in the dark SUV, the minutes ticking by like hours. My heart thudded against my ribs so loudly I thought it might burst through my chest. Every shadow outside looked like a threat. Every creak of the metal dock walls sounded like a gunshot.
Why did I insist on coming? I asked myself, gripping the edge of the leather seat. Because I couldn't let him walk into the dark alone.
Through the cracked windshield, I saw movement near Warehouse 4.
Two figures emerged from the shadows of the sliding door. One of them was tall, bulky, and walked with an unmistakable posture—Dominic. The other was a smaller, older man with thinning hair, stumbling forward with his hands raised awkwardly in the air. Arthur Pendelton.
Dominic shoved Arthur against the side of the sedan, his voice carrying faintly across the empty concrete lot, though I couldn't make out the exact words.
Then, everything went wrong.
From the upper catewalks of Warehouse 4, a blinding muzzle flash lit up the night.
Crack! Crack!
Gunfire shattered the silence. A bullet sparked off the hood of Dominic’s SUV just inches from where I sat.
“Dominic!” I screamed instinctively.
Outside, Dominic reacted with inhuman speed. He shoved Arthur to the ground, diving behind the engine block of the sedan as a barrage of bullets chewed up the metal body of the car. Marcus and the team returned fire instantly, their suppressed weapons spitting muzzle flashes into the upper windows of the warehouse.
“It’s a setup!” Marcus yelled into his comm-link, his voice transmitting through the SUV’s interior speakers. “There are snipers up top! Boss, we’re pinned down!”
Dominic fired three precise shots upward, silencing one of the snipers, but more gunmen were pouring out of the side doors of the warehouse, trapping them in a deadly crossfire.
I looked down at the steering wheel. I looked back at the doors of the SUV. Dominic was out there, pinned down against a hail of gunfire, and Arthur Pendelton was cowering in the dirt between them.
I promised I’d stay in the car.
I looked at the gear shift.
May you like
I lied.
Reaching over the center console, I fired up the SUV’s engine, slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, and roared out from behind the shipping containers.
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