Chapter 10 - TAKEN IN THE SMOKE
The concussion wave hit me like a solid wall of iron.
My ears rang with a high-pitched, deafening whine.
My vision shattered into spinning white sparks.
I fell backward, striking the hard concrete floor, all the air ripped from my lungs.
Through the thick, acrid smoke, I saw Adrian.
He had thrown himself between me and the blast.
He lay motionless on his stomach, a trickle of blood leaking from his ear.
"Adrian!" I tried to scream, but only a dry wheeze escaped my throat.
I tried to crawl toward him.
My limbs felt like lead.
Heavy combat boots stepped through the white smoke.
A hand wrapped into my hair, yanking my head brutally backward.
I looked up into the grinning face of Vincent Wells.
His eyes were completely wild, bloodshot with desperate rage.
"Found you, little bird," Vincent sneered.
Beside him stood Grant Mercer, holding a suppressed pistol aimed at Adrian’s head.
"Shoot him now, Vincent," Grant urged nervously, checking his watch.
"The capos are turning. If we don't end him—"
"No," Vincent interrupted, his voice dripping with malice.
"Let Adrian wake up in this dark hole."
Vincent gripped my jaw, digging his fingers into my flesh.
"Let him wake up knowing his empire died, and the last Bennett girl burned."
I spit blood into Vincent’s face.
He slapped me hard across the cheek.
The blow spun my head around, tasting iron and salt.
As two guards dragged me backward out of the vault, my fingers brushed my boot seam.
With the last shred of my strength, I slipped the master microchip out of the tape recorder.
I shoved it deep inside the inner lining of my boot tongue.
"Adrian!" I choked out one last time.
His fingers twitched against the concrete.
His eyelids fluttered, but the darkness dragged him under.
The heavy steel vault door was slammed shut, locking him in the dark.
A black burlap sack was shoved over my head.
Everything went black.
When the sack was ripped off, the stench of stagnant river water and diesel fuel burned my nose.
I was tied to a rusted metal chair inside an abandoned corrugated steel shipping container.
Rain hammered like machine-gun fire against the metal roof.
The door swung open with a screech of rusted hinges.
Caroline Wells stepped inside.
May you like
She wore a blood-red trench coat and black leather gloves.
In her right hand, she twirled an open silver straight razor.
