Chapter 6 - The Rat in the Kitchen
The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air as water from the ruptured sprinkler began to drip onto the ruined Persian rug.
Dante kicked away a dropped weapon with his boot, keeping his gun raised toward the shattered doorway. “Clear in the hall, Boss. But we’ve got company coming up the freight elevator. Victor didn't send a hit squad just to chat; he brought a clean-up crew.”
Julian didn't look at Dante. His dark eyes remained fixed on me, checking my posture, my hands, searching for shock or panic. Finding neither, he nodded once in silent approval.
“We aren't going down the freight elevator,” Julian said, his voice hard as iron. “If Victor’s men control the service core, they’ve cut the power to the lower levels. We go through the manager’s office.”
“The manager’s office has no exit except the main hallway,” Dante pointed out, frowning.
“It has a service ladder leading to the roof,” Julian corrected, walking toward the back wall of the VIP lounge where a heavy velvet curtain hid a reinforced steel emergency hatch. “And from the roof, we cross over to the neighboring parking structure. My car is waiting in bay twelve.”
I followed closely behind them, the Smith & Wesson still clutched tightly in my right hand, my diary safely secured back inside the zippered pocket of my skirt. Every step felt heavier now, the adrenaline beginning to wear off, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in my wrists from the recoil.
Julian pushed the heavy velvet curtain aside, revealing a digital keypad set into the steel wall. He punched in an eight-digit sequence, and with a heavy hydraulic hiss, the wall panel swung outward into a dark, narrow corridor smelling of dust and old concrete.
“Move,” Julian ordered, gesturing for me to enter first.
I stepped into the dim corridor, my boots clicking softly against the concrete floor. Dante took the rear, covering our six with his weapon raised, while Julian led the way with a tactical flashlight clipped to his belt.
We climbed three flights of narrow metal stairs, the sound of our breathing echoing in the enclosed space like a rising tide. As we reached the top landing, a muffled voice drifted up from the floor below us—someone speaking into a tactical radio.
“Sector four is locked down. Search the back stairwells. Victor wants the girl and the book. Leave the boss to me.”
I froze on the metal landing.
The voice belonged to Ryan.
Clean-cut, charming, easy-smiling Ryan Mitchell, who poured cosmos and teased me about my ancestors having taste. Ryan, who knew every regular by name and every manager’s schedule by heart.
“Ryan,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “It was Ryan.”
Julian stopped on the step above me, turning his head back. A shadow crossed his face, dark and cold. “You know him?”
“He works the bar with me,” I said, my voice shaking with a sudden, bitter fury. “He’s been there for four years. Victor bought him.”
“In Chicago, everyone has a price,” Julian said grimly. “Some people just sell out cheaper than others.”
Before we could reach the roof hatch, the heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairwell slammed open. Footsteps echoed loudly on the metal treads below—heavy, fast, and closing the distance between us with terrifying speed.
“They found the bypass!” Dante roared from the rear. “Go, Boss! Get her to the roof!”
“Dante—!” Julian started.
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“Go!” Dante shoved us both toward the roof hatch, then turned and planted his massive frame directly across the narrow metal landing, raising his Glock with both hands. “I’ll buy you sixty seconds. Make them count.”
Julian didn't hesitate. He grabbed my arm, hauled me through the steel hatch, and slammed it shut behind us just as the first deafening volley of gunfire erupted down on the stairs.
