Chapter 7 - Face to Face
The second-floor office of Warehouse B was a grand, carpeted room that had once belonged to the rail yard’s director.
Now, it was a war zone.
Glass from the shattered windows littered the floor. The heavy mahogany desk was turned on its side, pockmarked by dozens of bullet holes.
In the center of the room, bound to a heavy leather chair, sat Nora Whitaker.
Her green silk dress was torn at the hem, her dark hair wild, a thin line of dried blood tracing down her lip from a cut on her cheek. But her chin was lifted high, her green eyes burning with fierce, unyielding defiance as she stared at the man pacing frantically before her.
Caleb Rourke looked like a feral animal trapped in a pit.
His scarred face was flushed a dark, feverish red, sweat dripping from his chin onto his black tactical jacket. He held a small snub-nosed revolver in his right hand, his left hand bandaged where Damian’s bullet had shattered his wrist in New Jersey five years ago.
“They’re here!” Caleb screamed at his last remaining guard, a massive man named Viktor who was reloading a heavy assault rifle behind the overturned desk. “How did they find us so fast?! Who leaked the Charlotte location?!”
“It doesn't matter who leaked it, Caleb,” Nora said, her voice clear, calm, and mocking through the room. “Damian is in this building. And you know how this ends.”
Caleb spun around, charging at her and pressing the cold barrel of the revolver against her forehead.
“SHUT UP!” Caleb shrieked, his thumb pulling back the hammer with a sharp CLICK. “I’ll blow your head off! I swear to God, Nora! If I can't have you, he doesn't get you either!”
BOOM!
The heavy reinforced office door exploded inward in a shower of wood splinters and steel hinges.
Viktor raised his rifle to fire, but two rounds tore through the smoke, striking him squarely in the neck and chest. He collapsed backward over the mahogany desk, his weapon clattering across the carpet.
Through the clearing smoke walked Damian Vale.
He didn't take cover. He didn't raise his voice. He walked into the room like an king entering his court, his silver eyes locked onto Caleb Rourke.
Beside him stepped Ethan Parker, his service pistol raised in a firm, two-handed grip, covering the side angles of the room.
Caleb panicked, grabbing Nora around the neck and pulling her chair back, hiding his head behind hers while pressing the revolver into her temple.
“STAND BACK!” Caleb screamed, his voice cracking into a terrifying, manic screech. “I’LL KILL HER! ONE STEP CLOSER AND I’LL PULL THE TRIGGER!”
Damian stopped six feet away.
The room fell into a suffocating, terrible silence, broken only by the sound of the rain outside and Caleb’s ragged, terrified panting.
Damian looked at Nora.
He looked at the cut on her lip, the red mark on her cheek, and the stubborn, beautiful fire in her green eyes.
“Are you alright, Nora?” Damian asked softly, his voice full of warmth despite the deadly tension in the room.
“I’m fine, Damian,” Nora said, her voice steady. “He’s running out of bullets.”
Caleb pressed the gun harder into her skin. “Shut up! Vale, tell your little billionaire friend to put his gun down or she dies right now!”
Ethan didn't lower his gun. His eyes shifted slightly, taking in the angle of Caleb’s body, the position of Nora’s head, and the slight tremor in Caleb’s wounded left wrist.
“You’re not going to kill her, Caleb,” Ethan said smoothly, his low baritone voice echoing in the ruined office. “Because if you kill her, you have no leverage. You’re just a broken man standing in a ruined room with two men who have zero reason to let you breathe.”
“I’ll do it!” Caleb shrieked. “I have nothing left to lose!”
“You have your life,” Damian said quietly. He took one step forward.
“DON'T MOVE!” Caleb shouted, his eye twitching wildly.
Nora looked directly at Damian.
She gave him the same tiny, almost imperceptible nod she had given him five years ago in the Pine Barrens.
She stomped her heavy heel down onto Caleb’s foot with all her force, while slamming her head backward into his face.
CRACK!
Caleb’s head snapped back, the revolver jerking two inches to the right.
In that fraction of a second, two gunshots fired simultaneously.
THWACK! THWACK!
Damian’s round struck Caleb’s shoulder, shattering the joint, while Ethan’s round tore through the cylinder of Caleb’s revolver, destroying the firing mechanism and sending the weapon spinning out of his hand into the dark corner.
Caleb screamed in agony, falling backward onto the carpet, clutching his destroyed shoulder as dark blood soaked his tactical jacket.
Damian was across the room instantly.
He caught Nora as her chair tipped, lifting her up into his massive arms, cutting her bonds with a single stroke of his knife, and pulling her tight against his chest as if he would never let her go again.
“I’m here,” Damian whispered, his face buried in her wet hair. “I’m here, Nora.”
Ethan stood over Caleb Rourke, his pistol pointed directly down at the center of the man’s forehead.
Caleb looked up at Ethan through his tears and blood, spitting a mouthful of red saliva onto the carpet.
“Go on then…” Caleb wheezed. “Shoot me, billionaire. Show everyone you’re just like Vale.”
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Ethan looked down at the miserable, broken creature on the floor. His silver-grey eyes showed no anger, no hatred—only absolute, icy contempt.
“You’re not worth the bullet, Caleb,” Ethan said coldly. He lowered his weapon and turned his back on the monster. “Marcus! Call the FBI Special Taskforce. Tell them we have the man responsible for the Charlotte rail yard disappearances.”
