Chapter 3 - GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE
Bullets chewed through the concrete pillar exactly where Nora’s head had been a second before.
She didn't think. She sprinted down the ramp, her worn sneakers slipping on the slick concrete. Julian was right behind her, returning fire with terrifying precision. The echoing cracks of his Glock were deafening in the subterranean garage.
They reached Level Two. The black Range Rover sat in the corner, heavily armored and blending into the shadows. Nora unlocked it, diving into the driver’s seat. Julian threw himself into the passenger side, blood trailing down his left arm. One of the ricochets had grazed his bicep.
“Drive,” he grunted, tearing off his tie to make a crude tourniquet.
Nora slammed the start button and threw the heavy vehicle into drive. She didn't take the main exit. Having worked this garage for three years, she knew the service tunnel that connected to the adjacent hotel’s loading dock. She killed the headlights, navigating in pure darkness, and smashed through a wooden barrier, bursting out into a deserted alleyway.
For ten minutes, the only sound in the car was Julian’s heavy breathing and the steady thumping of the windshield wipers. Nora wove through the industrial district, making sure no one was on their tail.
“Take us to the shipyard,” Julian finally said, his voice tight with pain. “Pier 44.”
“No,” Nora said, her hands gripping the leather steering wheel.
Julian turned his head slowly, his eyes flashing with danger. “What did you say?”
“If Marcus betrayed you, your whole operation is compromised. Pier 44 is a known Thorne property. They’ll be waiting for you.” She glanced at his bleeding arm. “I know a place. It’s off the grid. And I need to patch you up before you bleed out on my shift.”
Julian stared at her. For the first time, he really looked at the soaked, shivering valet. “What’s your name?”
“Nora.”
“You’re awfully calm under fire, Nora.”
“I grew up in South Side. This isn't my first drive-by,” she lied, trying to hide the violent trembling in her hands.
She drove them to an abandoned auto-body shop on the edge of the city. It belonged to her brother, Leo. It had been boarded up for two years, ever since the police found Leo’s car at the bottom of the Chicago River.
Nora pulled the Rover inside and shut the heavy rolling doors. The shop smelled of old motor oil and stale dust. She quickly grabbed a first-aid kit from the wall and moved to Julian, who was slouched against the hood of the car.
She cut away his ruined sleeve. The wound was deep, but the bullet hadn't hit an artery. As she cleaned the laceration with rubbing alcohol, Julian didn't even wince.
“Why do you have this?” Nora asked softly, nodding toward the keys she had tossed on the workbench. The St. Christopher medal caught the dim light.
Julian looked at the medal, a profound sadness cracking his icy exterior. “It belonged to the best mechanic I ever knew. He died trying to fix a mistake I made.”
Nora’s hands stopped moving. The cotton swab hovered over his skin. “His name was Leo.”
Julian’s eyes snapped to hers, narrowing. “How do you know that?”
“Because he was my brother,” Nora said, her voice shaking with two years of buried grief.
Julian went entirely still. The air in the garage grew incredibly heavy. He reached out with his uninjured arm and gently pushed the first-aid kit away.
“Leo didn't die in a car accident, Nora,” Julian said quietly. “He died protecting someone for me.”
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Before Nora could ask who, Julian’s burner phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading a single text message. The blood completely drained from his face.
“They didn't just come for me tonight,” Julian whispered, looking at Nora with a terror she never thought a man like him could possess. “They found my daughter.”
