Chapter 5 - The Glass Threshold
"Lower the flare, Cole," Mateo commanded, his voice cold and calculated even as cold sweat stung his eyes. He recognized the burn pattern now—Cole "Cinder" Vance, an ex-con dishonorably discharged from a combat engineering unit a decade ago, long rumored to be the brutal muscle behind the Old Quarry chemical ring. "You shoot that manifold, you die with us."
"I died ten years ago in an ordnance pit," Cole sneered, his grip tightening around the canvas satchel. Inside, Brad let out a thin, choking whimper, struggling against the synthetic sedative still lingering in his tiny lungs. "That child isn't an orphan, Cruz. He's collateral. He belongs to people who don't leave loose ends walking around with family names."
"His mother is dead because of you," Mateo stepped forward an inch, aligning his sights with the center of Cole's chest. "You set the fire."
"Her own fault for trying to sell the formula to the state attorney," Cole spat. "She thought she could buy a quiet life in Idaho with a couple of ledger pages. But the ledger belongs to the club. And that boy's blood is the only proof of who funded the operation."
A sudden sound interrupted the standoff—a tiny, bare foot slapped the wet floor tiles behind Mateo.
"Give him back!" Elena screamed.
The six-year-old girl darted from the shadows, hurling a heavy stainless-steel surgical tray at Cole’s knees. The sharp metal edge struck Cole’s shin with a wet crack. He roared in fury, his balance shifting as he staggered backward onto the rain-slicked window ledge.
The momentary distraction was all Mateo needed. He fired two controlled shots. The rounds struck Cole’s right shoulder, knocking the flare gun from his hand. The weapon clattered to the floor, rolling away from the pressurized oxygen lines.
Cole screamed in agony, losing his footing on the slick iron fire escape. He dropped the canvas satchel toward the floor as he pitched backward out into the four-story drop into the rainy darkness below. Mateo lunged forward on his stomach across the broken glass, his hands shooting out over the threshold. He managed to snag the canvas strap with his fingertips just as the infant slid toward the edge.
May you like
Mateo pulled the baby safely back into his chest, panting heavily as rain soaked his uniform. Elena collapsed onto her knees beside him, sobbing into the wet fabric of his vest. But down below in the alley, amidst the dumpster shadows, there was no sound of a body hitting asphalt—only the distant roar of a modified motorcycle engine tearing into the night.
---
