Chapter 10 - Blood on the Levee
The black SUV coasted silently along the dirt access road flanking the Trinity levee.
Dust clouds rose like ghosts in the moonlight.
Fifty yards ahead, parked under the skeletal shadow of a rusted gravel conveyor belt, the black Dodge Charger sat with its trunk wide open.
Two men in tactical vests stood near the muddy embankment, their flashlights casting harsh white beams onto the brown, swirling water of the river.
A third man was dragging a violently thrashing figure across the gravel by the collar of a faded denim jacket.
Madison.
Her hands were zip-tied behind her back.
Heavy silver duct tape covered her mouth, muffling her desperate, muffled screams.
Her torn sneakers kicked against the limestone rocks, digging futile trenches into the dirt as the hitman dragged her toward the water's edge.
"No negotiations," I whispered to Frank and Vincent through the vehicle intercom.
"Clear the field."
Before the words fully left my mouth, Frank slammed the accelerator.
The heavy Cadillac surged forward like a missile, bursting through the thick brush.
The two hitmen at the water's edge whipped their heads around, reaching for their sidearms, but it was already too late.
The heavy reinforced steel bumper of the Escalade obliterated the first man, launching his body twenty feet into the muddy riverbank with a sickening thud of breaking bones.
The second man dove to the side, firing wildly into our windshield, but the armored glass absorbed the 9mm rounds with spiderweb cracks.
I kicked my door open while the vehicle was still skidding across the loose gravel.
I raised my weapon and fired three consecutive rounds.
The shooter collapsed backward into the tall weeds, motionless.
The third man—the one holding Madison—yanked her up as a human shield, pressing the barrel of a black semi-automatic pistol against her temple.
"Don't move, Moretti!" the hitman screamed, his eyes wild with cocaine-fueled panic.
"I swear to God I'll blow her head off!"
Madison’s eyes locked onto mine.
They were swollen, bruised, and filled with tears of absolute despair.
She wasn't crying because she was going to die.
She was crying because she saw me there, walking directly into the trap she had sacrificed four years of her life to prevent.
She shook her head violently against the tape on her mouth, screaming muffled warnings through the adhesive.
Run, Dominic. Run.
I lowered my weapon to my side.
"Let her go," I said, my voice echoing across the desolate river basin like a tolling church bell.
"Julian is already dead."
"Your cartel payout doesn't exist anymore."
"There is no money at the end of this road."
"There is only me."
The hitman’s grip tightened on Madison's hair, pulling her head back until her neck arched painfully.
"You think I care about Julian?" the man laughed hysterically.
"Julian was just the errand boy."
"The contract on your head didn't come from him, you arrogant bastard."
"It came from inside your own house."
Before the hitman could tighten his finger on the trigger, a thunderous explosion shattered the night from the levee ridge behind him.
A high-caliber hunting rifle round ripped through the hitman’s shoulder, tearing the joint completely away and spinning him around in a spray of blood.
He lost his grip on Madison.
She tumbled down the steep embankment toward the swirling water.
I dropped my gun and lunged down the muddy slope, my boots sliding in the mud, throwing my entire body forward.
My arms locked around her waist inches before she slid into the churning current.
I pulled her frail, trembling body against my chest, shielding her with my back as more gunfire erupted across the ridge.
I ripped the duct tape from her chapped lips.
She didn't gasp for air.
She didn't cry out in pain from her dislocated wrist.
May you like
She buried her face into the curve of my neck, her tears scalding against my skin, and whispered through broken sobs:
"Dominic... it was never Julian."
