Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Basement
The flickering fluorescent light above the service elevator hummed a dull, rhythmic D-flat, casting long, jittery shadows across the concrete floor of the underground garage. Maya froze, her hand instinctively dropping into her satchel to brush against the hard edge of the cream-colored envelope. The man blocking her path wore a dark hoodie pulled low over his forehead, completely obscuring his features, but the heavy iron pipe gripped tightly in his right hand gleamed dully under the failing light.
"You shouldn't have gone up there tonight, girl," a gravelly voice rasped from beneath the hood. "Mr. Vance doesn't like people messing with his guests."
Maya didn't step back. Her mind raced, calculating distances and exit routes. The freight elevator doors behind her had already begun to slide shut automatically, leaving her trapped in the concrete cul-de-sac of the parking level.
"Arthur sent you?" Maya asked, her voice dangerously calm, though her pulse hammered wildly against her throat. "Or was it Victoria? She always was the one who preferred blunt instruments to legal briefs."
The figure stepped forward, the heavy iron pipe scraping lightly against the concrete floor, leaving a faint, grating trail of white dust. "Nobody sent me. I just know a liability when I see one. And you're bleeding all over the place anyway—a little more won't make a difference."
With a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline, Maya didn't wait for the blow. Instead of retreating, she lunged forward, hurling her heavy leather satchel directly at the man's face. The thick brass buckles struck him square across the bridge of the nose with a dull thud. The man grunted in surprise, stumbling backward and swinging the pipe wildly through empty air.
Maya used the momentary distraction to sprint toward the row of parked catering vans, her worn sneakers slapping frantically against the damp concrete. Behind her, heavy, enraged footsteps pounded in pursuit, accompanied by a string of furious curses echoing off the concrete walls.
"Come back here, you little bitch!" the attacker roared, closing the distance terrifyingly fast.
Maya ducked sharply behind a white refrigerated delivery truck, pressing her back against the cold metal panel of the vehicle. Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing, listening intently to the heavy footfalls stopping just a few feet away. The soft scrape of the iron pipe dragging along the pavement grew closer, pausing right on the other side of the rear tire.
"I can hear you breathing," the man whispered, his voice dangerously close, right around the corner of the truck bed.
May you like
Maya closed her eyes, her fingers curling around a loose, heavy wrench resting on the open bumper of the delivery truck. As the shadow of the hood crept around the edge of the metal frame, Maya swung the heavy tool with every ounce of strength she had left, connecting squarely with the attacker's knee.
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