Chapter 16 - The Escape
The sound of shattering glass was followed by the heavy, tactical thud of boots hitting the pavement outside. I didn't think; I dropped to the floor, rolling behind a heavy printing press just as automatic gunfire shredded the air where I had been standing a second before.
The printer was screaming, but he was silenced by a single, muffled shot.
My vision began to clear, the ringing in my ears settling into a low, agonizing hum. I grabbed a heavy metal wrench from the workbench and looked for an exit. The back door was padlocked. I had to go through the roof.
I scrambled up the rickety ladder attached to the printing press, my hands slick with sweat. Another burst of gunfire hit the wood, sending splinters flying into my skin. I reached the ceiling hatch, shoved it open, and hauled myself onto the flat, tar-covered roof.
The city sky was gray and oppressive. Below, a black SUV was idling, two figures in tactical gear stepping out with rifles raised.
I didn't wait to see if they saw me. I jumped to the adjacent building, my heart screaming, my muscles burning. I slid down a fire escape, my fingers catching on the rough iron, and landed in a dumpster filled with wet cardboard.
I scrambled out, breathing hard, and ran into the maze of the city alleys. I couldn't go back to the estate. If they were following the shell company, they knew where I was going.
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I ducked into a crowded subway station, pulling my hood up. I needed a burner phone. I needed to call Arthur.
As I reached the turnstile, I caught a glimpse of myself in the station mirror. I looked like a refugee from a war zone—disheveled, bleeding, and terrified. But behind the fear, there was a familiar, cold determination. They wanted a war? They were about to get one.
