Chapter 6 - The Shadow of 10th Avenue
The rain had turned into a freezing sleet by the time the black armored SUV pulled up to the curb on 10th Avenue. The street was quiet, lined with dilapidated brownstones, rusted fire escapes, and overflowing garbage cans spilling into the wet gutters.
Inside the rear cabin of the luxury vehicle, Stella sat wrapped in a heavy dark coat that belonged to Jonah. It smelled of expensive tobacco, sandalwood, and clean rain—a smell so wildly alien to her reality that it almost made her weep.
Jonah sat beside her in the dark leather interior. He hadn't spoken since they left Lurora, but his presence filled the space like an iron wall.
"You don't have to go up there," Jonah said quietly, breaking the heavy silence as the engine idling hummed beneath them.
"I have to," Stella whispered, staring through the tinted window at the third-floor window of her apartment, where a dim, sickly yellow light flickered behind dirty blinds. "If he sees you coming without me, he’ll try to run, or... or he’ll use a gun."
"He won't use a gun," Jonah said flatly. "Cowards like Mercer only use weapons on people who can't fight back."
Jonah reached across the seat and gently took her small, cold hand in his massive palm. His skin was warm, his grip firm and steady. "Look at me, Stella."
She turned her head to meet his gaze.
"You are never going back into that apartment as his victim," Jonah said, his eyes glowing like cold steel in the passing streetlights. "You are coming with me tonight so you can see how small he truly is."
He didn't wait for her to agree. He opened his door and stepped out into the freezing sleet, holding a broad black umbrella over her as Wyatt opened her side door and helped her down.
They walked up the creaking, narrow stairs of the brownstone in silence. Wyatt walked ahead, his silent, predatory movement making no sound on the wooden steps despite his massive frame. Jonah walked beside Stella, his hand resting gently against the small of her back—not forcing her forward, but offering a solid, unyielding anchor of support.
When they reached the third floor, the smell of cheap bourbon and stale grease drifted through the gaps in the warped frame of Apartment 3B. Inside, the muffled sound of a television sports broadcast was playing.
Wyatt didn't knock. He looked at Jonah, received a single, slow nod, and stepped forward.
May you like
Wyatt raised his heavy, steel-toed boot and kicked the door right next to the brass lock.
The door frame splintered with a sound like a rifle shot. The latch blew straight out of the wood, and the door burst inward, slamming against the plaster wall inside.
