Chapter 7 - The Freight Train
Charles threw Marcus to the concrete floor.
“Secure him,” Charles barked to his captain. “If he moves, break his legs. If he speaks, break his jaw.”
Charles didn't wait to see the order carried out. He took the stairs three at a time, bursting out of the basement and sprinting through the opulent halls of the Vance estate. The rain outside had turned into a torrential downpour, flashing with jagged lightning.
He burst through the front doors. His tactical team had secured the perimeter.
“Keys!” Charles yelled at the nearest guard.
The man tossed him the keys to a heavily armored matte-black SUV. Charles caught them mid-stride, vaulted into the driver’s seat, and slammed the heavy door.
The engine roared to life like a caged beast.
He spun the tires on the wet gravel, smashing through the estate’s secondary wooden gates rather than waiting for them to open.
The rail yard was three miles away. Through the industrial district.
Charles drove with a cold, terrifying precision. He didn't swerve. He didn't brake for red lights. He became the monster the city whispered about in the dark.
His mind raced, piecing the final fragments of the puzzle together.
Toby was Penny’s son. Emily had lied to protect the boy, knowing that if the Vance family ever found him, he would be dragged back into the bloody, violent world Penny had died trying to escape.
Emily had risked everything to find out who killed her brother, but she had protected his nephew with her life.
Charles gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He had failed Penny. He would not fail her son.
He hit the industrial district, the massive steel containers of the rail yard looming in the distance like metal mountains. The yard was active; floodlights cut through the heavy rain, and the deep, vibrating horn of a freight train echoed in the night.
Charles killed his headlights as he approached the perimeter fence.
He rammed the SUV through the chain-link gate, the metal groaning and snapping under the armored grille. He slammed on the brakes, sliding the heavy vehicle sideways behind a stack of rusted shipping containers to avoid immediate detection.
He stepped out into the freezing rain. He didn't bring an umbrella. He drew a heavy, suppressed sleek handgun from his shoulder holster.
He moved like a shadow among the containers.
Up ahead, near platform four, he saw it.
Two black sedans were parked near an idling freight train. Three men in cheap suits stood outside, rain soaking their clothes.
One of them was holding Toby by the collar of his Spider-Man pajamas.
The boy was crying, clutching the heavy gold Rolex Charles had given him.
Emily was on her knees in the mud, her hands bound behind her back with zip ties. A man was pointing a gun at the back of her head.
“Marcus isn't answering,” one of the men yelled over the sound of the idling train. “He said if he doesn't call by midnight, we put them in the boxcar and lose the key!”
Charles checked his watch. It was 11:58 PM.
He had no time to call for backup. No time for negotiations.
Charles stepped out from behind the container, raising his weapon with icy, mechanical precision.
Pfft.
The first shot was barely a whisper over the rain. The man holding the gun to Emily’s head dropped instantly, crumpling into the mud.
The other two men spun around, drawing their weapons wildly.
Pfft. Pfft.
Charles fired twice more while walking forward. He didn't break his stride. One man took a round to the shoulder and spun against the sedan. The second man missed his shot, the bullet sparking off the container next to Charles, before Charles put a bullet through his kneecap.
The man holding Toby dropped the boy and scrambled into the sedan, slamming the door and speeding off into the dark rail yard, abandoning his crew.
Charles didn't chase him. He lowered his weapon and ran to Emily.
He dropped to his knees in the mud, pulling a switchblade from his pocket, and sliced the thick plastic zip ties binding her wrists.
Emily gasped, immediately lunging forward to grab Toby. She pulled the crying boy to her chest, burying her face in his wet hair.
“I’ve got you,” Emily sobbed. “Mommy’s got you.”
Charles stood over them, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He looked at the two wounded men bleeding in the mud, then at Emily and his nephew.
For the first time in nineteen years, the heavy, suffocating wall of ice around Charles’s heart cracked.
He dropped his gun, knelt in the mud beside them, and wrapped his massive arms around both Emily and Toby, shielding them from the freezing rain.
Toby looked up at Charles, his little hands gripping Charles’s wet suit jacket.
“You came back,” Toby whispered.
Charles swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I will always come back for you. Both of you.”
Emily looked at Charles, her eyes searching his face. The fear was gone, replaced by a profound, trembling exhaustion.
“It’s over,” Charles said softly. “Marcus is finished.”
May you like
Emily reached into her soaked sweater and pulled out the rusted key. She pressed it into Charles’s hand.
“First National on 5th,” she whispered. “Go finish it.”
