Chapter 7 - Pier 19
The abandoned warehouse at Pier 19 looked exactly as it had five years ago.
Rusted iron girders jutted out like broken ribs against the dark, stormy sky. The black waters of the East River churned angrily beneath the rotting wooden pilings, sending cold spray leaping across the concrete apron.
A single spotlight shone down from the center of the high, cavernous ceiling, casting a sharp circle of yellow light onto the wet concrete floor.
Standing in the center of that light, wearing a tailored charcoal suit and holding an umbrella, was Marcus Vance.
He was in his late fifties, with silver hair cropped close, a regal, aristocratic posture, and eyes that were completely devoid of human warmth.
Beside him stood four heavily armed mercenaries, their rifles trained on the dark entrances of the warehouse.
A soft, barefoot step echoed through the shadows.
Marcus smiled, slowly lowering his umbrella. "You always were punctual, Viper."
Claire stepped out from the shadows into the edge of the light.
She was wearing a black tactical suit, two handguns holstered at her hips, her hair pulled back, her blue eyes locked onto Marcus with absolute, unwavering deadliness.
"Marcus," she said flatly.
"Look at you," Marcus murmured, studying her with a cold, appreciative gaze. "Five years playing house with a billionaire. I almost believed you had gone soft. But the way you handled my men at the Astoria... poetry. Pure poetry."
"You shot my husband," Claire said, her voice dropping an octave into a register that made the mercenaries step back slightly.
"I shot a minor inconvenience," Marcus corrected smoothly. "Daniel Han was getting in the way of business. He bought Titan Logistics, which meant he bought my ledger. I couldn't allow a civilian to hold the key to my entire global infrastructure."
"He didn't know what he had," Claire said.
"He knew enough to put your real name on a DOJ server," Marcus countered, taking a slow step toward her. "Which brought us right back to where we started, didn't it? Pier 19. The site of your greatest failure."
"My failure was trusting you," Claire said softly.
"Your failure was believing that a weapon could ever become a human being," Marcus spat, his refined demeanor cracking slightly into ugly rage. "You were built to be an instrument of my will, Viper! I gave you a purpose! I gave you a life! And you threw it away to cook dinners and paint landscapes for a weak, soft businessman!"
Claire looked at Marcus, her expression surprisingly calm—almost pitying.
"Daniel isn't weak, Marcus," she said quietly. "He builds things. He creates jobs. He loves without asking for anything in return. He has more strength in his pinky finger than you have in your entire hollow, bitter soul."
Marcus stared at her for a long second, then let out a sharp, cruel laugh.
"How touching," Marcus sneered. "A love story. Too bad it ends tonight."
May you like
Marcus raised his hand to give the signal to his mercenaries.
"Kill her," he commanded.
