Chapter 7 - The Unholy Alliance
The rain began to pour in heavy, blinding sheets as the old Ford truck sped down the highway.
Mark kept one hand firmly on the wheel and the other pressed against his bleeding shoulder.
The wound burned like fire, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the anger consuming him.
In the middle seat, Lily had finally succumbed to exhaustion, her head resting heavily on Mark’s lap.
Sarah sat near the window, carefully checking the magazine of the suppressed pistol she had grabbed.
"He hit your shoulder," Sarah said, her voice strained over the roar of the rain against the glass.
"It’s just a graze," Mark lied through clenched teeth.
"We need a safe house, Sarah."
"Somewhere outside the city limits where the local police can't reach us."
Sarah shook her head slowly, looking out into the pitch-black highway.
"Nowhere in this state is safe from Arthur, Mark."
"He controls the state troopers, the county sheriffs, and half the judiciary."
"If we check into a hotel or go to a hospital, we'll be dead or in cuffs within an hour."
"Then where are we going?" Mark demanded, glancing at her.
Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather notebook.
"There is one person who hates Arthur more than I do."
"A man named Marcus Vance."
Mark frowned, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.
"Vance?"
"Is he related to you?"
"He's my brother," Sarah replied quietly, her expression darkening with old grief.
"He used to be a lead detective for the organized crime unit ten years ago."
"Until Arthur framed him for evidence tampering and destroyed his life."
"Marcus lost his badge, his pension, and his family."
"Now he lives like a ghost in an abandoned sawmill in the northern mountains."
"Does he have weapons?" Mark asked coldly.
"He has weapons, surveillance gear, and ten years of hatred built up inside him," Sarah said.
"If anyone can help us breach Arthur’s fortress estate, it’s Marcus."
Mark took the next exit, turning the truck onto a winding, unpaved mountain road.
The mud splashed violently against the undercarriage as the vehicle climbed higher into the dense forest.
After twenty minutes of treacherous driving, the dark outline of a sprawling, rusted sawmill appeared through the trees.
The entire place looked completely deserted, surrounded by rotting timber piles and broken machinery.
Mark pulled the truck into a covered shed and cut the lights.
Silence settled over them, broken only by the rhythmic thrum of rain on the tin roof.
Suddenly, the driver’s side door was yanked open with violent force.
May you like
Before Mark could react, a cold, heavy steel barrel was pressed directly against his temple.
"Get out of the truck slowly," a rough, gravelly voice ordered from the shadows.
