Chapter 16 - The Warehouse on Canal
Marisol woke with a headache and the taste of chemicals in her mouth.
A rusted fan turned above her. Cold air seeped through corrugated walls. Her wrists were tied to a chair, and Nico sat ten feet away with a swollen cheek and a cut over his eyebrow.
“Hey, Mari,” he said. “You look terrible.”
She laughed once, a frightened little burst. “You look worse.”
“You always say that.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not bad. Don't do anything stupid for me.”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Caleb Rourke entered carrying a paper cup. The fake theater badge hung from his jacket. He set the cup beside Marisol and pulled out a pistol.
“Boss wants the memory card,” he said. “Tell me where the copies are.”
“I don't know.”
“Your brother said you'd be stubborn.”
Nico spat blood onto the floor. “I said you were an idiot. Different thing.”
Rourke struck him. Marisol lunged against the rope, chair legs scraping concrete.
“Hit me instead!” she shouted.
“It's funny,” Rourke said. “Your old man yelled the same thing.”
Marisol went still. “You were there?”
“Under the bridge. I cut a brake line just like Dominic told me. Reyes saw me under the car and called the house. Dominic told him I'd fixed a leak. When the brake pedal hit the floor, your father turned into the barrier instead of the river. After the crash, he wouldn't shut up.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Mercer handled the hospital. I handle engines.”
He turned toward the door. As it clanged shut, Nico tipped his head toward his work boot.
“Phone,” he whispered. “Inside lining. Been recording since he walked in.”
“Please tell me you have a battery.”
“Thirty percent.”
A metal edge protruded from Marisol's broken chair. She twisted her wrists against it, sawing at the rope until her skin burned. Nico worked his own chair toward her, inch by inch. He managed to kick off the boot. His phone slid across the floor.
By the time the rope snapped, Marisol could barely feel her fingers. She grabbed the phone and sent the recording to Nia and Price.
Outside, a boat horn sounded on the river. She recognized the warehouse now: Canal Street, just south of the old grain silos.
Marisol bent to free Nico. The loading door rolled upward behind her.
May you like
Dominic stood in the opening with two men and a heavy blue ring on his hand.
“Good,” he said. “You're both awake. Now I only have to kill one of you to make my point.”
