Chapter 4 - The Heist of the Black Sun
The rain over the harbor was relentless, turning the black salt water of the East River into a churning cauldron of white foam.
Pier 19 was an ancient, rusting expanse of corrugated iron warehouses, crane towers, and rotting wooden pilings that stretched out into the dark river like a dead hand.
At 2:00 AM, a single black sedan pulled up to the security gate of Warehouse 4.
Ren stepped out of the vehicle, wearing her dark jeans, a black leather jacket, and her hair tied back tightly. In her right pocket lay a small silver drive Jonah had given her; in her left lay a compact 9mm pistol Ashton had taught her to load three hours ago.
She walked through the rusted side door of the warehouse, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
The interior was vast, dark, and filled with stacks of wooden shipping crates smelling of salt, oil, and decay. In the center of the main floor, under a single hanging lightbulb, sat Mica Callaway, bound to an iron chair.
"Ren!" Mica yelled, his voice raw and hoarse. "Ren, no! It's a trap! Get out of here!"
"Mica!" Ren cried, rushing forward.
Before she could reach him, four armed men in dark raincoats stepped out from behind the shipping crates, their submachine guns raised.
From the raised cat-walk above stepped Preston Whitmore, wearing a thick trench coat, flanked by two Russian mercenaries holding heavy shotguns.
"You really are your father's daughter, Ren," Whitmore sneered down at her, his voice echoing off the iron rafters. "Foolish, romantic, and endlessly gullible. Did you really think you could play house with Ashton Graves and walk away unscathed?"
Ren stopped ten feet from her brother, her hands raised slightly to show she was unarmed. "I am here, Whitmore. Let Mica go. He knows nothing."
"Oh, he knows plenty," Whitmore laughed wickedly. "He spent three years trying to hack into my shipping manifests. But it doesn't matter now. Once you’re both at the bottom of the river, Ashton’s thirty-day challenge dies with you. I'll tell the Commission you fled the state together out of guilt."
Whitmore raised his hand to signal his gunmen. "Kill them."
"I wouldn't do that, Preston," a calm, terrifying voice echoed from the shadowed rafters above.
Whitmore froze. "What?"
BOOM!
The massive glass skylight at the crest of the warehouse roof shattered into ten thousand falling crystal pieces!
Rappelling ropes dropped through the rain-slick opening as four dark figures descended like striking hawks!
Ashton Graves hit the concrete floor with lethal grace, firing his weapon twice before he even stood erect—two of Whitmore's guards dropped instantly to the floor!
"FIRE!" Whitmore screamed, scrambling back toward the cat-walk exit!
The warehouse erupted into absolute chaos.
Automatic gunfire deafened the air—TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!—tracers lighting up the dark interior in violent flashes of white and orange!
Ren didn't hesitate. She threw herself over her brother's chair, using her own body to shield Mica as bullets splintered the wooden crates around them! She pulled her silver pocketknife from her jacket and frantically began sawing at the heavy zip-ties binding Mica’s wrists.
"Mom... Dad... I thought you were dead," Mica sobbed through his split lip as the ties snapped free.
"Not tonight, Mica! Run for the back door!" Ren shouted, shoving him toward the shadows.
On the main floor, Ashton moved like an unstoppable force of nature. He cleared the central aisle with devastating efficiency, his gray eyes cold and unblinking amidst the smoke and fire.
He moved up the metal staircase toward Whitmore, firing three shots that blew the lock off the cat-walk gate!
Whitmore, frantic with panic, grabbed a heavy iron pipe from the wall and swung it wildly as Ashton breached the upper deck!
The pipe struck Ashton’s left shoulder with a violent CRACK!
Ashton stumbled back against the railing, his pistol knocked from his grip, clattering down to the lower floor twenty feet below!
"I've waited ten years for this, Graves!" Whitmore screamed, pulling a heavy hunting knife from his belt and lunging at Ashton's throat!
Ren, seeing Ashton disarmed from below, sprinted up the iron stairs!
"ASHTON!" she screamed.
She pulled her 9mm pistol from her jacket, leveled it with both hands, and fired a single shot into the iron deck at Whitmore's feet!
The sharp explosion bounced off the metal walls. Whitmore jumped back in shock, his gaze snapping down to the girl standing at the top of the stairs, her arms steady, her amber eyes burning with absolute, lethal conviction.
"Step away from him," Ren commanded, her voice cold as ice.
The distraction was all Ashton needed. He lunged forward, grabbed Whitmore’s knife wrist, twisted it back with bone-shattering force, and slammed the older man face-first into the iron cat-walk floor!
Whitmore howled in pain as Ashton pinned him under a knee, pulling out heavy iron handcuffs and securing the disgraced mogul's wrists behind his back.
Ashton stood up, breathing heavily, blood seeping through his dark jacket where the pipe had bruised his shoulder. He looked down at Ren, who was still holding the pistol, her chest heaving as she ran up the remaining steps to his side.
"You fired a gun," Ashton said, the faintest hint of an amused smile touching his scarred lip.
"You were about to get stabbed," Ren panted, dropping the weapon and throwing her arms tightly around his waist, burying her face into his chest.
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Ashton closed his eyes, wrapping his good arm securely around her shoulders, pulling her close as Jonah and the tactical team secured the warehouse below.
"The Black Sun is broken, Ren," Ashton whispered into her hair. "It’s over."
