Chapter 7 - The Wrath of the Ghost
The deafening blast shattered the skylights above us. A torrential downpour of shattered glass and twisted metal rained into the warehouse.
"Get down!" Alex roared.
I dove under the folding table just as four black, cylindrical objects crashed through the broken ceiling, clattering onto the concrete floor.
Flashbangs.
The brilliant, blinding flashes of white light were followed instantly by concussive booms that knocked the air from my lungs and left a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
Silas and his men staggered blindly, screaming in disorientation.
From the gaping holes in the ceiling, a dozen men dressed in black tactical gear repelled down heavy ropes, firing suppressed assault rifles before their boots even hit the ground.
It wasn't the police. It was Arthur’s private mercenary army. The ghost of Chicago had returned to protect his investment.
Chaos erupted. The sterile smell of the meatpacking plant was immediately overwhelmed by the sharp, sulfurous stench of gunpowder and blood.
Silas’s men were ruthless, but they were caught completely off guard. They returned fire wildly, but Arthur’s mercenaries moved with lethal, coordinated precision.
I huddled under the table, hands clamped over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. I focused entirely on the frantic, terrified kicks of my baby against my ribs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I chanted silently to her.
Through the chaos, I saw a pair of heavy boots stop near the table.
A strong hand grabbed my arm, hauling me out from under the desk.
I screamed, thrashing wildly, but the grip was unbreakable.
"Rebecca, it’s me!"
I opened my eyes, blinking against the dust and smoke.
It was Alex.
He was covered in blood, his face a battered mess, but his eyes were bright with a fierce, protective fire. He had used the distraction of the flashbangs to shatter the weakened wooden legs of the chair he was tied to, freeing himself. He held a stolen assault rifle in his hands.
"We have to move," Alex yelled over the gunfire.
He wrapped his arm tightly around my waist, practically carrying me as we ran toward the maze of heavy plastic curtains hanging in the processing area of the warehouse.
Bullets whizzed past us, tearing through the thick plastic strips, showering us with shredded PVC.
We ducked behind a massive, stainless-steel meat grinder, gasping for breath.
"Are you hurt?" Alex demanded, his hands frantically checking my stomach and arms, entirely ignoring his own bleeding wounds. "Did they hurt you?"
"I’m fine, I’m fine," I sobbed, clutching his torn shirt. "Alex, your father... he sent a fake drive. He used me as a tracking beacon to find Silas."
"I know," Alex growled, his jaw clenching. "Arthur doesn't do rescue missions. He does executions. He’s using this chaos to wipe out Silas’s entire faction. We have to get out of here before his men decide we’re loose ends too."
He peeked around the edge of the steel machine, assessing the battlefield. Silas was pinned behind a forklift, screaming into a radio, desperately calling for reinforcements that would never arrive. Arthur’s men were systematically clearing the room.
"The loading dock is blocked," Alex assessed grimly. "We’ll have to take the maintenance tunnels. They run under the river."
He grabbed my hand, leading me toward a heavy steel door marked Authorized Personnel Only at the back of the processing floor.
He kicked the door open, revealing a dark, damp concrete stairwell.
We hurried down the stairs, the sounds of the firefight growing muffled behind the thick walls. The air grew colder, smelling of stagnant water and mildew.
At the bottom of the stairs, a long, dimly lit tunnel stretched out before us. Water dripped from the ceiling, pooling in the cracked concrete floor.
"Keep moving," Alex urged, keeping his rifle raised as he scanned the darkness ahead.
We walked for what felt like hours, though it was likely only minutes. My body was pushed to its absolute limit. The Braxton Hicks contractions from earlier had evolved into a steady, dull ache in my lower back. I leaned heavily on Alex, gritting my teeth to keep from slowing him down.
"Alex," I gasped, finally unable to take another step. I leaned against the damp tunnel wall, clutching my side. "I need... I need a minute."
Alex immediately slung the rifle over his shoulder and gathered me into his arms, supporting my weight completely.
"I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing a desperate kiss to my forehead. "I’m so sorry, Rebecca. I am so damn sorry. I never should have brought Madison into our house. I should have told you the truth. I thought I was protecting you."
"You pushed me away," I cried softly, the anger and the exhaustion finally breaking through my resolve. "You made me feel worthless."
"I know," Alex choked out, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "I thought if you hated me, you would leave. And if you left, Silas and Arthur wouldn't be able to use you against me. I tried to be the monster they all think I am, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't let you go."
He rested his forehead against mine, his chest heaving with emotion.
"I love you, Rebecca," Alex swore, his voice raw and broken. "More than the empire. More than my life. If we get out of this tunnel, I’m walking away from all of it. I swear to God."
I looked into his eyes. The ruthless billionaire was gone. The mob boss was gone. The man standing in front of me was just Alex. The man who had danced with me in the kitchen.
I reached up, gently wiping a streak of blood from his cheek.
"I believe you," I whispered.
He let out a shuddering breath, pulling me into a fierce, desperate kiss. It tasted of blood and tears and profound relief.
But our moment of fragile peace was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps splashing through the water behind us.
We broke apart, looking back down the long, dark tunnel.
A figure emerged from the shadows, illuminated by the flickering emergency lights.
It was Silas.
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He was bleeding from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, holding a heavy pistol, limping slightly. He had escaped the massacre in the warehouse, and he had followed us into the tunnels.
And he looked absolutely murderous.
