Chapter 7 - The Trap At Pier 14
The night air at Pier 14 was bitter and unforgiving. Huge gusts of freezing wind swept off the black waters of Harbor City bay, whistling through the rusted iron girders of the abandoned Old Grain Silo.
At eleven-forty-five PM, a convoy of four black armored Suburbans pulled onto the cracked concrete pier, their headlights cutting through the swirling snow.
Dominic sat in the specially modified front passenger seat of the lead vehicle. Ethan sat behind the wheel, his hand resting on his holstered pistol. Six heavily armed Moretti guards stepped out first, securing the perimeter around the massive steel entrance of the silo.
“Perimeter clear, boss,” the head guard reported over the radio. “Four union vehicles are parked inside the main bay.”
Ethan opened the passenger door, deployed the hydraulic ramp, and helped Dominic transfer smoothly into his custom wheelchair. Dominic wore a heavy black wool overcoat over a dark suit, his face set in an iron mask of supreme, unshakeable authority.
They moved inside the massive concrete silo. High above, rusted iron walkways crisscrossed the darkness, illuminated only by a few hanging halogen work lights.
Sitting around a wooden cable spool in the center of the bay were four elderly union leaders, led by a grey-haired man named Tom Burke.
Tom stood up as Dominic’s wheelchair approached, his eyes showing a mix of deep respect and subtle nervousness.
“Dominic,” Tom said, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you for coming out in this weather.”
“Let’s make this brief, Tom,” Dominic said, his deep voice echoing off the cavernous concrete walls. “You called this meeting. Do we have an agreement on the shipping manifests?”
Tom pulled a stack of leather folders from his coat. “The union board voted eight to two this evening. We’re returning exclusive night-docking rights to the Kane Logistics Group effective immediately. Marcus Vance is out.”
Dominic reached out, taking the signed documents from Tom’s hands.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed through the silo.
The massive heavy steel doors at the entrance slammed shut, followed by the heavy thud of an external hydraulic lock falling into place.
The halogen lights high above flickered once and died completely, plunging the entire silo into pitch darkness.
“Ambush!” Ethan screamed, drawing his weapon as the deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted from the upper iron catwalks.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the dark like violent lightning. The four union leaders screamed, diving behind concrete pillars for cover. Dominic’s six guards immediately returned fire, their tactical rifles barking as they formed a defensive circle around Dominic’s wheelchair.
“Hold the perimeter!” Ethan shouted over the deafening noise, firing his pistol up into the rafters where Marcus’s shooters were positioned.
Suddenly, a high-powered spotlight snapped on from a catwalk thirty feet above, blinding Dominic and his men.
Standing on the walkway, holding a megaphone and flanked by ten heavily armed mercenaries, was Marcus Vance.
“Dominic!” Marcus’s amplified voice boomed through the silo, laced with psychotic triumph. “Did you really think the union called this meeting? I bought Tom Burke three days ago!”
Tom Burke shrank back behind a pillar, his face pale with guilt.
Dominic sat motionless in his chair beneath the bright spotlight, his face entirely calm, his dark eyes fixed on Marcus high above. “You set up a trap in a closed room, Marcus. You always were a amateur.”
“I don't need to be a genius, Dominic!” Marcus laughed crazily. “I just needed to get you out of your fortress!”
Marcus reached into his coat and pulled out a small remote control with a digital screen. He held it up so the spotlight caught it.
“Do you know what this is, Dominic?” Marcus mocked. “This is a live video feed from your estate’s east wing.”
Dominic’s body went completely rigid. The icy calm on his face shattered into a terrifying storm of pure, unadulterated fury. “Marcus...”
“I didn't send my best men here to fight your guards, Dominic,” Marcus grinned maliciously. “While you were driving out here to play king of the docks, six of my private contractors blew the rear gate of your mansion. They’re inside the east wing right now.”
The digital screen on Marcus’s remote showed a grainy, night-vision feed.
Inside the quiet hallway of the mansion, three men in black tactical gear were dragging a struggling woman toward the back exit.
It was Emma.
Dominic stared at the screen. His vision turned red. A primal, roaring beast woke up inside his chest—a terrifying rage far greater than anything he had ever felt in his entire life.
“She’s a sweet girl, Dominic,” Marcus taunted from the walkway. “My boys are taking her to the old chemical plant on 8th Street. If you want her back alive... you have thirty minutes to drive down there alone. No guards. No guns. Just you in your little chair.”
Marcus pressed a button on his remote.
A heavy flash-grenade dropped from the catwalk, exploding in a blinding flash of white light and a deafening bang.
Under cover of the smoke and noise, Marcus and his men vanished into the upper exit tunnels of the silo.
When the smoke cleared, Ethan rushed over to Dominic’s chair, his face bleeding from a piece of flying shrapnel. “Dominic! We have to blow the front doors! I’ll call the main security force at the estate—”
“No!” Dominic roared, his voice shaking the concrete walls like an earthquake.
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He grabbed the metal armrests of his wheelchair. His eyes were burning with a terrifying, lethal fire that made even Ethan step back in terror.
“Get the truck,” Dominic growled through his teeth, his entire body vibrating with dark, unyielding power. “We’re going to 8th Street.”
