Chapter 7 - The Trap Springs
The stinging splash of ice water brought me violently back to consciousness.
I gasped, choking, coughing up water that tasted of rust and grime. My head throbbed with a vicious, sickening ache.
When my vision cleared, I realized I was tied securely to a heavy wooden chair in the center of a cavernous, derelict warehouse. Rain hammered relentlessly against the corrugated tin roof high above. The air smelled of damp mold, rotting wood, and gasoline.
Standing in front of me was Catherine Voss, holding an empty metal bucket. She wore a stained designer trench coat, her face twisted with a manic, obsessive hatred that bordered on insanity.
Surrounding us were half a dozen heavily armed men in dark tactical gear, carrying military-grade Kalashnikov rifles. Standing near the shadows by the shipping containers was Antonio Moretti himself—a burly, graying mobster chewing on an unlit cigar, his face bruised from his recent skirmishes with Ryan’s forces.
“Look who decided to wake up,” Catherine laughed, tossing the bucket aside. It clattered loudly against the concrete.
“Where is Sadie?” I demanded, straining violently against the thick nylon ropes binding my wrists behind the chair. The fibers dug into my flesh, drawing blood, but I didn't care. “If you touched a single hair on her head, Catherine, I will tear your throat out with my bare teeth!”
Catherine stepped forward and slapped me across the face with all her strength.
The impact snapped my head sideways, my lip splitting against my teeth. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Shut up!” Catherine shrieked, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back until my neck screamed in pain. “You’re nothing! You hear me? A filthy, penniless beggar! Ryan Greer belongs to me! My family was supposed to rule this city! And he threw us away... for *you*!”
I spit blood directly onto the toe of her designer leather boot.
“He never wanted you, Catherine,” I hissed, staring directly into her crazed eyes with pure defiance. “He rejected you because you’re pathetic. And you will always be pathetic.”
Catherine’s face turned purple with rage. She raised her hand to strike me again, but Antonio Moretti stepped out of the shadows, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder, pushing her back.
“Calm down, little girl,” Moretti grunted in a gravelly voice. “We didn't bring her here to play dress-up. We brought her here as bait.”
Moretti pulled a rugged satellite phone from his tactical vest and dialed a number. He hit speakerphone.
The line rang twice.
*Click.*
“Speak,” Ryan’s voice came through the speaker.
It wasn’t just cold. It was the voice of death incarnate. Even through the tiny speaker, the sheer, crushing murderous intent radiating from Ryan silenced the mercenaries in the warehouse.
Moretti grinned, stepping closer to me. “Good evening, Greer. I believe we have something that belongs to you.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell on the other end of the line.
“Moretti,” Ryan said, his tone terrifyingly level. “If Diane is harmed, I will peel your skin from your bones while your family watches. Put her on the phone.”
Moretti shoved the phone against my bleeding mouth.
“Ryan!” I screamed. “Sadie! Is Sadie safe?!”
“Diane!” Ryan’s iron composure cracked instantly, raw panic and agony bleeding into his voice. “Listen to me, my love. Sadie is safe. Marcus secured the school before they could touch her. She is locked in the vault at the Obsidian Tower. She is safe, do you hear me?”
A sob of pure, overwhelming relief tore through my throat. Sadie was safe. My sister was alive. Nothing else mattered.
“Ryan, don't come!” I shouted frantically into the receiver. “It’s a trap! They have mercenaries, they have—”
Moretti violently yanked the phone away, striking me across the temple with the barrel of his revolver. My head spun, black spots dancing in my vision.
“You have thirty minutes, Greer,” Moretti barked into the phone. “Warehouse 44, Brooklyn Navy Yard. Come alone. No convoy. No snipers. No Marcus. Walk in through the front doors with the signed deed transferring all North Port terminals to my syndicate, or I let Catherine slit her throat on live video.”
“I’m coming,” Ryan said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made Moretti’s grin falter. “Do not touch her again, Antonio. Because every second of pain you inflict on Diane will cost you a decade in hell.”
The line went dead.
Moretti chuckled nervously, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He turned to his men. “Positions. He’s going to bring the documents, but the second he steps into the kill-zone beneath the crane, open fire. No prisoners.”
Catherine pulled a gleaming pearl-handled switchblade from her coat, clicking the razor-sharp blade open. She knelt in front of me, bringing the cold steel against the soft skin of my throat.
“Thirty minutes is a long time, Diane,” Catherine whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “Let’s see how pretty Ryan thinks you are after I carve my name into your face.”
I looked at the blade, feeling the sharp sting as it broke the surface of my skin.
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*Thirty minutes,* I thought, my heart beating with fierce, unyielding faith. *Thirty minutes. Hold on, Diane. Ryan is coming.*
***