Chapter 4 - AMBUSH IN THE RAIN
The crack was like thunder inside a cardboard box.
Sterling’s reflexes were instantaneous—honed by years of security drills and paranoia. He lunged forward, tackling Willa off the plastic chair and slamming her down behind the heavy industrial steel washing machines just as a hail of submachine gunfire shredded the ceiling and rows of dryers.
Glass showered over them like hail. Fluorescent tubes exploded into sparks, plunging the laundromat into darkness lit only by the rhythmic flashes of gunfire from the street.
“Stay down!” Sterling shouted against her ear, covering her body entirely with his own. He could feel the violent trembling of her chest beneath him, her hands clawing into his wet shirt.
Outside, the unmistakable sound of Carter returning fire with a high-caliber sidearm echoed down the alleyway. Crack! Crack-crack!
“Target is in the structure! Move in!” a rough, foreign voice barked from the sidewalk.
Footsteps crunched over the shattered glass of the entryway. Two men clad in dark tactical jackets and balaclavas crossed the threshold, their weapons raised, scanning the shadows between the aisles of washers.
Sterling didn't carry a firearm—it was a rule he kept for public appearances—but his mind was calculating angles with terrifying speed. Beside him on the floor lay a heavy iron wrench left behind by a repair technician.
He leaned into Willa’s ear, his voice deadly calm despite the chaos. “When I move, you crawl to the back emergency exit. Do not look back. Carter is outside on the left flank.”
“Sterling, no!” she gasped, clutching his wrist. “They’ll kill you!”
“They want Vance Capital,” Sterling whispered, offering her a faint, feral smile that belonged entirely to the scrappy street orphan he used to be. “They have to catch me first.”
Sterling gripped the heavy wrench, rolled smoothly onto the balls of his feet, and kicked a plastic detergent bucket across the linoleum aisle.
The nearest gunman spun instantly, spraying bullets into the soap bottles, sending blue and green liquid pouring across the floor. In that split second of distraction, Sterling surged out of the darkness like a panther.
He closed the distance before the man could re-aim, bringing the iron wrench down with brutal precision across the gunman’s wrist. The weapon clattered to the floor. Sterling drove his elbow straight into the attacker’s throat, sweeping his legs out from under him. The man hit the soapy linoleum with a sickening thud, his head cracking against the iron base of a washing machine, knocking him out cold.
The second shooter pivoted, leveling his barrel at Sterling’s chest. “Don’t move, billionaire!”
BANG.
The back of the second gunman’s jacket blossomed into crimson. He collapsed forward into a heap.
Carter stood in the shattered doorway, smoke curling from the barrel of his Glock, rain plastering his gray hair to his skull. “Clear! Mr. Vance, we have incoming vehicles—two black SUVs turning off 6th Avenue. We have to move now!”
Sterling grabbed the fallen assault rifle, cleared the chamber, and dashed back to the row of dryers. Willa was huddled against the back wall, pale as moonlight, but she hadn't run. She had stayed.
Sterling reached down, scooped her up by her waist, and pulled her against his chest. “I’ve got you. Let’s go!”
They bolted through the rear fire door into the drenched alleyway. Carter was already reversing the armored Maybach into the narrow passage, the heavy doors popping open automatically. Sterling practically threw Willa into the reinforced leather back seat, diving in right behind her as Carter slammed the vehicle into gear.
The heavy tires shrieked against the wet pavement, throwing plumes of spray as the Maybach rocketed out of the alley. Behind them, bullets ricocheted off the vehicle’s ballistic rear glass with dull metallic thumps, leaving webbed fractures but failing to penetrate.
Inside the cabin, the heavy hum of the V12 engine masked the storm outside. Willa was hyperventilating, her hands coated in white plaster dust and rain.
Sterling caught her face in his warm, trembling hands, forcing her to look at him. “Willa. Look at me. Are you hit? Look at me!”
She shook her head frantically, swallowing the lump in her throat. “No... no, I’m okay. But Sterling... who were they? Why were they trying to murder you?”
Sterling’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to crack. He turned toward the front partition. “Carter.”
Carter looked into the rearview mirror, his face grim. “Custom suppressed CZ-Scorpions, tactical gear with serial numbers filed off. This wasn't street crime, sir. This was Blackwood Global.”
Willa’s eyes widened. “Marcus Blackwood? Your partner in the Pacific transit merger?”
“Not a partner,” Sterling said, his voice dropping into an icy abyss of pure vengeance. “A rival I was about to crush. He knew that if the board voted in my favor on Friday, his conglomerate would collapse into bankruptcy. He thought that if I died tonight, the contract would default to him.”
Sterling reached over, gently taking Willa’s hand into his. In the center of her palm, he placed the copper ring.
May you like
“You said you didn't want to live in my marble halls,” Sterling whispered, his gray eyes burning with fierce determination. “But until I burn Blackwood to the ground, you aren't safe anywhere else. You’re coming with me, Willa. And this time, no one touches a single hair on your head.”
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