Chapter 7
1019words
Her captor was Rico Vargas himself.
"Save your strength, counselor." Vargas lounged on a wooden crate opposite her, lazily peeling an apple with a switchblade. His scar looked demonic in the harsh light. "Your cop boyfriend's probably running around like a chicken with its head cut off. By the time he figures this place out, you'll be wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson."
Sophie ignored his threats, her eyes methodically scanning the makeshift cell, mind working overtime.
The knots were nautical—impossible to break by force. Iron door, windows boarded shut. But in the corner stood a rusty heating pipe, its edge jagged from neglect.
Her only shot.
"Who do you work for?" Sophie asked suddenly, her voice quiet but steady, fishing for information.
Vargas paused mid-peel, then sneered: "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. All you need to know is you and your detective stuck your noses where they don't belong. Some people are way above your pay grade to mess with."
He stood, took a vicious bite of apple, and stalked out. The iron door slammed shut with a heavy clang.
Silence fell.
Sophie moved instantly. Controlling her breathing, she inched the chair toward the heating pipe. Each movement scraped loudly against concrete. Every muscle screamed in protest, but she clenched her jaw, eyes blazing with determination.
Finally, she positioned her back against the pipe and began sawing the rope against its jagged edge. The process was agonizing—rough hemp and rusted metal shredding her skin together. Soon burning pain radiated from her wrists as warm blood trickled down her arms.
But she didn't stop. Each stab of pain only reinforced her will to survive.
***
Ethan had neutralized four guards on the ground floor and was heading for the stairs when he heard footsteps. He ducked behind a shipping crate as Vargas descended, casually humming, likely going to check on his men.
The instant Vargas passed the crate, Ethan struck.
He exploded from cover like a striking predator, his fist connecting with Vargas's jaw in a brutal hook. Staggered but not down, the gangster lived up to his reputation—in one fluid motion, he drew a blade and slashed at Ethan's midsection.
A savage, no-rules brawl erupted in seconds.
Ethan dodged the blade and locked Vargas's wrist. They grappled furiously, muscles straining, eyes burning with killing intent. Vargas launched a vicious headbutt; Ethan countered with a knee to the gut. The warehouse echoed with the meaty thuds of blows and ragged breathing.
Finally, Ethan's training paid off. He caught Vargas's arm in a joint lock and wrenched it backward. A sharp crack followed by a howl of pain, and the knife clattered to the floor. Ethan finished him with a devastating blow to the temple. Vargas dropped like a stone.
Without pausing, Ethan snatched the keys from the floor and sprinted upstairs.
He kicked the iron door open with a crash.
Inside, Sophie was ghostly pale from blood loss and exhaustion, but she'd managed to fray the ropes halfway through. When she saw Ethan in the doorway—face spattered with blood, eyes wild—her rigid control finally broke. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Ethan…"
Ethan rushed to her, slicing through her bonds with his knife. When he saw her wrists—raw to the bone—rage and terror surged through him anew.
He pulled her from the chair and crushed her against his chest, as if trying to absorb her into himself. "You're safe now. I'm here. I'm right here." His voice, for the first time, shook with emotion.
Just then, car engines and shouting erupted outside. Vargas's crew was back.
"We need to move!" Ethan grabbed Sophie's hand and they bolted downstairs.
As they neared the exit, a gang member burst through the door, weapon raised. The muzzle flashed.
"Down!" Ethan shoved Sophie aside, but white-hot pain exploded in his left shoulder. The bullet found its mark.
He staggered, grunting in agony, but still managed to raise his weapon and return fire. His shot hit center mass.
"Ethan! You're hit!" Sophie rushed to his side, horror-struck at the crimson stain spreading across his shoulder.
"I'm okay… just go!" Ethan's face had gone ashen, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
Half-carrying each other, they dodged sporadic gunfire toward the exit. Just as they found themselves surrounded, with hope fading, a chorus of police sirens sliced through the night, growing louder by the second.
Police cruisers swarmed in like cavalry, surrounding the shipyard in a wall of flashing lights. Searchlight beams cut through darkness. Chief Marcus led the charge himself, bulletproof vest on, shotgun in hand.
Before going in, Ethan had sent Marcus an encrypted text with the address and two words: "NEED BACKUP." Politics be damned—Marcus had responded.
"NYPD! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" The command blasted through megaphones, echoing across the shipyard.
Faced with overwhelming force, the remaining gangsters threw down their weapons and raised their hands. The battle ended as quickly as it had begun.
Rico Vargas and his entire crew were rounded up in one clean sweep. In Vargas's office, police found enough evidence to lock him away forever—including a ledger detailing every transaction with Brilliant Stars. They had their man.
Amid the chaos, Sophie helped the stumbling Ethan from the warehouse. Seeing his ashen face, she could no longer hold back tears. She tore a strip from her silk blouse and pressed it against his wound with shaking hands.
Ethan looked at her, feeling the pressure on his wound and the warmth of her touch. A weak smile crossed his face.
With his good hand, he gently brushed tears from her cheek.
They stood in the pulsing web of red and blue light, surrounded by shouts and sirens, but in their world, only the two of them existed.
They'd emerged from darkness, battered and bloodied, but bound together more tightly than ever before.
