Chapter 7 - Across the Chicago Skyline
The night air hit us like a wall of ice.
We burst out onto the flat, gravel-covered roof of the Crimson Lounge, the wind whipping our hair across our faces. Below us, the glittering skyline of Chicago stretched out in every direction like a circuit board of neon and glass, the Willis Tower piercing the dark clouds in the distance.
A light drizzle had begun to fall, turning the gravel slick beneath our shoes.
Julian didn't pause. He grabbed my hand—his grip surprisingly warm against the freezing rain—and pulled me across the open roof toward a metal maintenance bridge that spanned the narrow alleyway between the warehouse and the neighboring multi-level parking garage.
Pop-pop-pop!
Bullets ricocheted off the metal edge of the roof hatch behind us. Ryan Mitchell’s voice echoed from the stairwell below, sharp and cruel.
“Don't let them reach the bridge! Cut them off!”
I spun around, leveling the Smith & Wesson back toward the open hatch just as a tactical operative emerged onto the gravel roof. Without thinking, I squeezed the trigger twice. The shots went wide, kicking up sparks against the brick parapet, but it forced the gunman to duck behind an industrial air-conditioning unit.
“Keep moving!” Julian shouted over the rising wind, hauling me onto the narrow metal maintenance bridge.
The bridge swayed violently beneath our feet as we sprinted across the ten-foot gap high above the dark, empty alleyway. Below us, the asphalt looked like a long, one-way ticket to the morgue.
As we reached the far side of the parking structure, heavy footsteps pounded onto the opposite end of the bridge.
Ryan Mitchell stepped out into the open air, holding a suppressed automatic pistol in his right hand. His usual charming smile was gone, replaced by a cold, desperate snarl. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain.
“End of the line, Sofia,” Ryan shouted, leveling the barrel straight at my chest. “Victor wants the girl intact, but he didn't say anything about the bartender.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, raising my weapon to match his. My hands were shaking now—not from fear, but from the freezing rain and the raw, burning fury in my chest.
“You killed Leo,” I said, my voice cutting through the wind. “You were the one who gave him the poisoned drink at the bar six months ago.”
Ryan laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Leo was poking his nose where it didn't belong, Sofia. Just like you. Some people just don't know how to stay invisible.”
He tightened his finger on the trigger.
Before the bullet could leave his barrel, a heavy shadow detached itself from the concrete pillar beside us.
Julian didn't hesitate. He didn't aim for the chest or the weapon. With terrifying, calculated precision, his SIG Sauer barked once in the dark.
The bullet caught Ryan squarely in the right knee.
Ryan screamed, dropping his weapon as his leg buckled beneath him, sending him crashing hard onto the metal grating of the bridge. He clutched his knee, howling in agony as the rain washed the spreading dark stain across his dark trousers.
May you like
Julian walked slowly across the bridge, the barrel of his gun pointed down at Ryan’s face.
“Tell Victor,” Julian said softly, his voice carrying the weight of an executioner, “that his audit is over.”
