Chapter 5 - Fire and Ash
The door burst open with a deafening crash, bouncing off the concrete wall inside.
Sarah let out a shriek, scrambling back against a wooden desk. She was tied to a chair with heavy zip-ties, her hair disheveled, her makeup smeared with tears.
Julian Vance stood in the middle of the room, wearing a sharp tailored coat over a black turtleneck. In his right hand was a small, black snub-nosed revolver. Beside him stood a massive man in a security jacket holding a five-gallon gas can.
Vance turned toward the doorway, his eyes widening in brief shock before his face twisted into a cruel, triumphant sneer.
“Mark,” Vance murmured, aiming the revolver directly at my chest. “You always were too smart for your own good. I expected you to be crying at the quarry for another hour.”
“Put the gun down, Julian,” I said, stepping into the room. I held the crowbar low at my side, my stance wide, keeping my body between Vance and Sarah.
“Mark! Run!” Sarah sobbed, pulling frantically against her bindings. “He forced me! He said he had a man watching the house! He said if I didn't leave with him, he’d burn our house down with Emma and Leo inside!”
The horrifying truth struck me like a physical blow.
Sarah hadn't abandoned our children out of cruelty or greed. She had surrendered herself to a monster to protect our children from being burned alive in their beds. The burner phone, the text message, the locked door—she had complied with his demands because she believed it was the only way to keep our family alive.
“She’s a loyal wife, Mark,” Vance sneered, shifting his weight. “She actually believed I had a hitman standing on your lawn. It’s amazing what a mother will do when you threaten her children.”
“You’re finished, Vance,” I said, my voice dead calm. “The sheriff has the burner phone. The divers pulled the car. The whole county knows.”
“The county knows nothing!” Vance snapped, his composure cracking for a fraction of a second. He gestured to the heavy man holding the gas can. “Burn it. Burn the whole floor.”
The henchman popped the cap off the gas can and began sloshing raw gasoline across the concrete floor, heading straight for the wooden desks and piles of old blueprints.
“Julian, don't!” Sarah screamed.
Vance leveled the gun at my forehead. “Goodbye, Mark.”
Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, I grabbed the heavy gas can off the floor and hurled it directly into Vance’s face.
The heavy plastic container struck his shoulder, knocking him off balance. The gun went off with a blinding flash and a deafening report, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete wall behind me.
I closed the distance in half a second, driving the steel tip of the crowbar into Vance’s ribs.
He let out a agonizing gasp, dropping the revolver to the floor. I kicked the gun across the room, grabbed Vance by his collar, and slammed him face-first into the concrete pillar beside the desk.
The henchman lunged at me from behind, swinging a heavy iron pipe.
I ducked beneath the swing, yanking Vance’s unconscious body into the path of the hit, taking the brunt of the strike on my leather jacket shoulder. I spun around, sweeping the henchman’s legs with the crowbar, sending him crashing onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
I pulled out my tactical lighter, flicked the flame into existence, and held it over the pooling gasoline.
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“Move,” I growled at the hitman lying on the floor. “Or we all stay in this room together.”
The man’s eyes filled with pure terror. He scrambled to his feet, leaving Vance bleeding on the floor, and sprinted out the doorway into the dark warehouse.
