Chapter 9
The ruptured overhead pipe hissed with ferocious pressure, blasting freezing water directly down onto the narrow hallway. Visibility dropped to near zero as the thick spray bounced off walls, soaking tactical gear, cheap suits, and maid uniforms alike.
The operative stumbled backward, blinded by the deluge and the sudden shock of ice-cold water hitting his face. His knife slipped harmlessly away from Julian’s throat. Julian shrieked, scrambling on his hands and knees through the puddles like a drowning rat, clawing his way past Marcus toward the relative safety of the main kitchen.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. He lunged through the artificial waterfall, closing the distance before the operative could recover his footing. He slammed his shoulder directly into the man’s chest, driving him hard against the reinforced door of the walk-in freezer. The impact rattled the heavy hinges. Marcus dropped his empty firearm and drove a brutal, calculated right hook straight into the center of the operative’s masked jaw, followed by a sharp knee to the solar plexus.
The operative slumped forward, unconscious, sliding down the wet metal door into the pooling water at his feet.
Marcus stood over him, panting heavily, water streaming from his dark hair and soaking through his white shirt. He turned sharply, his eyes scanning the corridor. Julian was already gone, fleeing back toward the kitchen like a coward. But Clara was still standing in the threshold of the freezer, shivering violently, soaked to the bone, her grey uniform clinging tightly to her frame.
Marcus crossed the space in two strides, grabbing her gently by the shoulders and pulling her back inside the well-lit, freezing interior of the walk-in unit, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind them to cut off the sound of the spraying pipe.
The walk-in freezer was packed with rows of metal shelving laden with crates of produce and sides of beef, the air smelling of frost and raw steel. Clara wrapped her bruised arms tightly around herself, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely form words.
“You... you shouldn't have come after me,” Clara stammered, tears mixing with the water dripping from her dark hair. “They’re not going to stop, Marcus. That wasn't just some local crew. That was a hit squad. If they want us dead, they’ll just burn the whole place down with us inside.”
Marcus stepped closer, ignoring the freezing temperature. He reached down, unbuttoning his damp cuffs and rolling his sleeves up further to reveal skin covered in dark ink and fresh bruises. He looked at her with a raw intensity that made the cold air feel irrelevant.
“They can try,” Marcus said quietly. “But nobody burns my kitchen while I’m still standing in it.”
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He reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping her bruised cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. For a moment, the tension in the room shifted, the violent chaos of the outside world melting away into a profound, suffocating stillness.
Suddenly, a heavy, muffled explosion shook the foundation of the building, rattling the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling.
