Chapter 6 - BLOOD ON THE LEATHER
“Julian!” Marco shouted, glancing in the rearview mirror.
The SUV was tearing down the rain-slicked highway at eighty miles an hour.
In the backseat, Julian pressed both hands against his stomach.
Blood rapidly soaked through the pristine white fabric of his tuxedo shirt, staining the tan leather seats beneath him.
“I’m okay,” Julian gasped, his face turning paper-white.
“It just... it burns.”
I didn’t think about my injured left arm.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, climbed awkwardly over the center console, and dropped into the backseat next to him.
“Move your hands,” I ordered.
I pulled his hands away.
The bullet had hit him low in the right side, just above the hip.
It wasn’t a clean through-and-through. The bullet was lodged inside.
“Keep pressure on it,” I told him, grabbing a clean towel from a gym bag on the floorboard.
I pressed it hard against the wound.
Julian cried out, his head snapping back against the headrest.
“How bad is it, Tessa?” Marco demanded from the front, swerving to avoid a slow-moving truck.
“He’s losing blood fast. He needs a hospital, Marco. We have to pull over.”
“We can’t go to a hospital!” Julian wheezed, grabbing my wrist.
“The Ashfords have cops on payroll at every ER in the city. The second I check in with a gunshot wound, Marcus Ashford will know exactly where we are.”
Marco gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
He was a mafia boss. A ruthless businessman.
But right now, looking in the mirror, he was just a terrified father watching his only son bleed out.
“There’s a private clinic in South Philly,” Marco said, his voice tight.
“An underworld doctor. He owes me his life. It’s a ten-minute detour.”
“No!” I yelled.
“Every minute we waste is a minute they have Leo! They have my son, Marco!”
The impossible choice hung in the air.
Save his son, or save mine.
Marco’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
The anguish in his gaze broke my heart.
Before he could make the call, Julian spoke.
“Dad.”
Julian’s voice was weak, but completely clear.
“Go to the garage.”
“Julian, you’re bleeding to death,” Marco growled.
“Go to the garage,” Julian repeated, coughing. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“Tessa’s right. Sabrina is unstable. She hates Tessa. If we don’t get there now, she might hurt the boy just to spite her.”
Julian looked at me.
For the first time since I had met him, he looked like a man instead of a spoiled boy.
“I brought this on us, Tessa. I let Sabrina into our home. I’ll bleed out in this car before I let her hurt your kid.”
Tears blurred my vision.
I pressed the towel harder against his wound.
“Just hold on, Julian. Just breathe.”
Marco didn’t say another word.
He hit the gas, pushing the heavy armored SUV over a hundred miles an hour.
We tore off the highway exit, plunging into the dark, industrial warehouse district of North Philadelphia.
The streets were empty, lit only by flickering yellow streetlamps.
We slid to a halt half a block away from a massive, corrugated metal building.
The faded sign above the rolling doors read: ASHFORD MOTORS.
“Stay here with him,” Marco ordered, racking the slide of his pistol.
“Keep the doors locked. Don’t open them for anyone but me.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said, picking up the 9mm he had given me.
“Tessa, no. It’s a slaughterhouse in there.”
“My son is in the slaughterhouse,” I fired back, my voice shaking but resolute.
“You think I can sit in this car while you fight for my child?”
Marco looked at me.
He saw the absolute, terrifying resolve of a mother.
He gave a single, sharp nod.
We left Julian locked in the running SUV.
Marco and I moved silently through the freezing rain, hugging the brick wall of the neighboring warehouse.
We reached the side door of Ashford Motors.
It was a heavy steel fire door.
Marco checked the handle. Locked.
He didn’t try to shoot the lock.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic device—a digital lock bypass.
He plugged it into the electronic keypad. Three seconds later, the light turned green.
Marco pushed the door open silently.
We stepped into the dim, oil-stained cavern of the garage.
It was massive.
Dozens of high-end stolen cars sat in various states of disassembly.
The smell of gasoline and iron hung heavy in the air.
At the far end of the garage, under a bright halogen work light, stood three people.
Marcus Ashford, a thick, brutal-looking man in his sixties.
Sabrina, still wearing the designer dress she had worn to the dinner party.
And Mrs. Walsh.
The elderly housekeeper was tied to a chair, her face bruised.
But Leo wasn’t there.
My heart stopped.
I grabbed Marco’s arm, panic rising.
“Where is he?” I whispered frantically. “Where’s Leo?”
Marco raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
We crept closer, hiding behind the chassis of a dismantled Mercedes.
“You’re out of time, Marcus,” Sabrina was saying to her father.
Her voice was shrill, echoing in the empty space.
“Marco is going to find out I faked the pregnancy. If he gets to that Zurich box before we do, the feds will have the ledgers by morning.”
Marcus Ashford slapped his daughter across the face.
The sound cracked like a gunshot.
Sabrina stumbled backward, holding her cheek.
“You stupid girl,” Marcus snarled.
“I told you to marry the man, not sleep with his idiot son! You compromised a three-year operation because you couldn’t keep your legs closed!”
He turned to Mrs. Walsh.
He pulled a heavy revolver from his belt and pressed it to the old woman’s head.
“Last chance, old lady,” Marcus said coldly.
“Where did the maid hide the key?”
Mrs. Walsh spit blood onto the concrete floor.
“Go to hell.”
Marcus pulled the hammer back.
“Suit yourself.”
I didn’t wait for Marco.
May you like
I stepped out from behind the Mercedes, raised my gun, and fired.
TITLE: The Echoes Of Gunfire
