Chapter 4 - Blood and Redemption
The underground slaughterhouse was a maze of white tile, stainless steel drains, and the perpetual, iron scent of antiseptic and old blood.
When Leon, Adrian, and I burst through the heavy steel doors of the medical basement, the scene inside was a war zone.
Two of my best enforcers lay unconscious on the floor, their breathing shallow from heavy doses of aerosolized tranquilizer. The surgical tray was overturned, and the heavy iron door leading to the rear alleyway was swinging open into the night air.
Tommy was gone.
In the center of the room, pinned to the stainless-steel examination table with a bloody butcher’s knife, was a handwritten note scrawled on syndicate letterhead.
I walked over, pulled the knife free from the steel table, and unfolded the paper.
“Caleb,
You always were too sentimental about family. You should have killed Tommy when you had the chance. If you want to see your nephew—and your precious little niece—alive, come to the abandoned dry docks at Pier 12 before sunrise. Come alone.
— Marcus.”
“A trap,” Leon muttered, checking the slide of his submachine gun. “A textbook ambush. He’s taking them both out of the city.”
“It’s not a trap, Leon,” I said, folding the note and sliding it into my coat pocket. “It’s an execution. Marcus knows his ledger has been exposed. He knows Adrian downloaded his offshore accounts. He’s cutting his losses and burning the house down.”
Adrian looked terrified. “Caleb, if you go down to Pier 12 alone, you’ll walk into a crossfire of fifty mercenaries. Marcus has been buying up decommissioned military contractors for months.”
I turned to Adrian, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.
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“Adrian. You are the smartest man I know. But you don't understand what it means to be a Vance,” I said softly. “A Vance doesn't hide when someone steals from his house. He burns the thief to ash.”
I looked at Leon. “Get the tactical vans ready. We aren't going in quietly. We’re going to wage a war.”
