Chapter 10: The Judas Gambit
The warehouse district was a graveyard of industry. Rusted chain-link fences sagged under the weight of old vines. Shattered windows stared like blind eyes. Garrett killed the truck’s engine a block away, letting the silence of abandonment wash over them.
“She said northeast corner door,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the roofline. “Said it would be open.”
Nova followed his gaze. The building was a monstrosity of stained concrete and corrugated steel. “Feels like a great place to get murdered.”
“It is.” He opened his door. “Stay behind me. And for god’s sake, if I tell you to run, you run. No arguments.”
The air outside was cold and carried the scent of wet brick and diesel fumes. Their footsteps on the broken asphalt were the only sound. The northeast door was a smaller, human-sized entrance set into a rolling bay door, slightly ajar. A sliver of darkness beckoned.
Garrett paused, his hand going to the small of his back where Nova knew he kept a gun. He pushed the door open with a slow, grating creak.
Inside, the scale was suffocating. Vast, empty space stretched into shadows, punctuated by the skeletal forms of old machinery and towering piles of pallets. High above, dust motes danced in the few spears of gray light cutting through grimy skylights. The air was cold, still, and tasted of metal and old oil.
And there, in the center of the concrete floor, stood Will. She wasn’t leaning against her car. She was planted, feet apart, hands clasped loosely in front of her. The posture was deceptively casual. Nova saw what Garrett saw: the tension in her shoulders, the way her right hand hovered near her waistband. The grip on a pistol that wasn’t yet visible.
“You’re late,” Will called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.
“Took the scenic route,” Garrett answered, his tone flat. He walked forward, putting himself squarely between Will and Nova. “So. We’re here. What’s the play?”
Will’s smile was a thin, lipless thing. “The play is simple. You’re the bait.”
Garrett went very still. “Explain.”
“Vince is paranoid. He doesn’t travel to new locations without a trigger. A reason. You’re going to be that reason.” She finally moved, pulling a phone from her jacket. “I’ve sent him a message. A panicked message from a burner I told him was my emergency line. Told him you tracked me here. That you’re forcing me to talk, that you’ve got a gun to my head. That I need an extraction.”
Nova felt a cold trickle down her spine. “You’re setting him up to walk in here thinking he’s saving you.”
“He’ll come fast. He’ll come with at least two men. He’ll be focused on you.” Will’s eyes flicked to Garrett. “On the threat. He won’t be looking for me.”
“And where will you be?” Garrett asked.
“Up there.” Will gestured with her chin toward a metal catwalk that ran along the far wall, accessible by a ladder. “Clean line of sight. The moment he’s clear of the door, I take the shot. You two distract, I end it.”
Garrett shook his head slowly. “No. He walks in, he sees me, his first move is to put me down. You’re offering me up as a target.”
“You’re a big boy. Dodge.”
“And Nova?” The question was a low growl.
Will’s gaze slid to Nova, appraising, dismissive. “She shouldn’t be here. That’s your problem. But the script’s written. He’s already on his way.”
The weight of the switchblade in Nova’s boot felt insignificant. A toy against what was coming. She stepped out from behind Garrett. “You’re not doing this for justice, Will. You’re doing it so you can watch.”
For the first time, Will’s cool façade cracked. A ripple of pure, undiluted hatred moved across her face. “You don’t get to talk about my sister. You don’t get to talk about justice. You’re just the dumb girl who followed a convict into a dark hole. Your purpose is to make him messy. To make him slow. It’s why I didn’t stop you from coming.”
The words were meant to wound, to isolate. Nova felt them land, but they sparked something else—a defiant, reckless anger. She remembered the motel room. The dust, the blood, the brutal honesty of survival. This polished, calculated cruelty was worse.
Garrett’s hand found Nova’s wrist, his grip tight. “We’re leaving. Your war, you fight it.”
“You walk out that door,” Will said, her voice dropping to a conversational dead calm, “and I call Vince and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. That you just left. And then I give him your name, your description, and the plate number of your truck. How long do you think you last on the run with him hunting you? With her in tow?” She tilted her head. “You’re in the play, Garrett. The curtain’s up.”
The trap was perfect. They were center stage, with no exits.
A distant sound sliced through the silence. The low purr of an expensive engine, turning onto the access road outside. Too soon.
Will’s eyes widened a fraction. “He’s early. Get to cover. Now.” She was already moving, sprinting for the ladder to the catwalk, her boots ringing on the metal rungs.
Garrett pulled Nova towards a massive, rusted lathe machine. “Down,” he hissed, pushing her behind the solid steel bulk. He crouched beside her, drawing his gun. The metal was cold against Nova’s back. She pulled the switchblade from her boot, the click of the release deafening in her ears.
The warehouse door groaned open, flooding the floor with sharp, gray daylight. Three silhouettes stood framed in the entrance.
Vince was in front. He was older than Nova expected, with silver-touched hair and a trim build under a tailored coat. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a bored businessman.
“Will?” he called out, his voice echoing. “You here?”
Silence.
He took two steps inside, his two men flanking him. Both had their hands inside their jackets. They scanned the shadows, the piles of debris.
From the catwalk, Will’s voice rang out, perfectly pitched with fear. “Vince! He’s here! He’s got me pinned!”
Vince’s head snapped up, searching for the source of the voice. His men’s hands emerged, holding pistols.
Garrett’s breath was steady beside her. Nova’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The distraction.
“Show yourself, Rhodes!” Vince shouted, his cool demeanor slipping into irritation. “This is pathetic!”
A shot cracked through the air, but not from the catwalk. One of Vince’s men jerked, a red blossom flowering on his shoulder. He cried out, stumbling behind a stack of pallets. The shot had come from a different shadow, deep in the warehouse.
Will hadn’t taken the shot.
Vince and his other guard dove for cover, firing wildly in the direction of the muzzle flash. The warehouse exploded with noise, the gunshots echoing like thunder in the empty space.
“She’s got another shooter,” Garrett breathed, his face grim. “She never meant to take the shot herself. We’re just the noise.”
Chaos swallowed the plan. Vince was barking orders, his remaining man laying down suppressing fire. From the catwalk, Will was silent, a ghost waiting.
Then Nova saw it. A flicker of movement near the door they’d entered. A fourth man, slipping in silently, a rifle in his hands. Will’s true backup. He moved with purpose, not towards Vince, but in an arc, trying to flank Vince’s position.
He passed within ten feet of their hiding place.
Garrett saw it too. Their eyes met. This was the unscripted moment. The man with the rifle was focused ahead, his back to them for a crucial second.
Garrett moved.
It wasn’t a heroic charge. It was a silent, brutal lunge. He came up behind the rifleman, one arm snaking around his throat, the other slamming his gun hand against the lathe. The rifle clattered to the concrete. The man gagged, elbows flying back.
Nova was moving before she could think, the switchblade held low. She didn’t know what to do with it. Garrett wrestled the man down, his knee in his back. The man’s free hand scrabbled at his ankle, coming up with a small, black pistol.
The world narrowed to that small, ugly weapon turning towards Garrett’s side.
Nova stabbed downward.
The blade sank into the man’s forearm with a sickening resistance, grating on bone. He screamed, a short, choked sound. The pistol fell from his limp fingers. Garrett wrenched the man’s head back once, sharply, and he went still.
Nova stared at the handle of her knife, protruding from the stranger’s arm. The blood was shockingly dark, welling around the metal. Her stomach lurched.
Garrett grabbed the fallen rifle, checked it. “Nova. Look at me.”
She dragged her eyes up to his. They were fierce, alive.
“You saved my life,” he said, the words simple and absolute.
Another volley of gunfire erupted from across the warehouse. Then a single, precise shot.
Silence rushed back in, ringing and heavy.
From the catwalk, Will’s voice came, calm and clear. “Clear.”
Garrett stood, pulling Nova up with him. He kept the rifle trained ahead as they stepped out from behind the machine.
Vince lay sprawled on the concrete, a dark pool spreading beneath his head. His remaining guard was slumped against a wall, unmoving. The first man, shot in the shoulder, was whimpering, clutching his wound.
Will descended the ladder, her pistol still in her hand. She walked over to Vince’s body, looked down at it for a long moment, and spat on the floor next to him.
“It’s done,” she said, holstering her weapon. She finally looked at Garrett and Nova, her eyes lingering on the knife still embedded in the unconscious man’s arm. “Messy.”
“You lied,” Garrett said. “About everything.”
“I got the job done. That was the deal.” She nodded toward the whimpering man. “He’s your problem now. The police will be here soon. I’d suggest you not be.”
She turned and walked toward the open door, into the flat daylight, without a backward glance.
The warehouse was silent again, save for the soft, pained crying of the wounded man. The smell of cordite and blood hung thick in the cold air. The switchblade felt like a lead weight in Nova’s consciousness, a part of her now left behind in a stranger’s flesh.
Garrett pried it free, wiped the blade clean on the man’s jacket, and handed it back to her. The metal was still warm.
“We have to go,” he said, his voice hollow with adrenaline’s crash.
Nova took the knife, her fingers numb. She looked from the dead man on the floor to the one sobbing, to the door where Will had vanished. Justice felt like a hollow, ugly word.
The sirens started in the distance, faint but growing. A rising wail, coming for the aftermath.