Chapter 6 - The Reclamation
The storm outside Pier 14 was ferocious, the wind howling through the rusted iron rafters of the abandoned warehouse. Rain leaked through the roof, pooling on the concrete floor where a single, bare lightbulb hung from a wire, swaying back and forth.
Naomi sat on a wooden chair beneath the light, her small hands tied behind her back. She was crying silently, her eyes wide with terror as three men in dark coats stood near the entrance, smoking and laughing.
In the center of the room stood Marcus Moretti, a tall, gaunt man with silver hair and a tailored suit that looked entirely out of place in the derelict warehouse. He checked his gold watch.
"Eleven-thirty," Marcus murmured. "Your aunt is running out of time, little girl."
Suddenly, the heavy iron doors of the warehouse groaned.
One of the guards turned, raising his weapon, but before he could raise it fully, the door flew open with explosive force.
A figure stepped through the driving rain.
It was Delia. She was soaked to the bone, her mother’s medical bag clutched tightly in her right hand, her left hand buried inside her coat pocket.
"Delia!" Naomi cried out, her voice cracking with relief.
"I'm here, baby," Delia called back, her eyes locking onto her niece. "I'm right here."
Marcus Moretti smiled, stepping forward. "Ah, the loyal nurse. I must admit, I was skeptical. Women of your profession are usually so... moral. But I suppose blood is thicker than water. Did you bring it?"
Delia walked slowly into the light, her steps deliberate. "I have the antidote. I didn't give it to him."
"And Lincoln?" Marcus asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Is he dead?"
"His lungs are filling with fluid as we speak," Delia said, her voice shaking slightly, though her eyes remained steady. "By midnight, his heart will fail. Now let my niece go."
"Show me the medicine first," Marcus demanded, holding out his hand.
Delia reached into her bag and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid. "Here. This is the antivenom. It's the only copy in the city."
Marcus chuckled, gesturing to one of his men. "Go take it from her."
The guard stepped forward, his hand reaching out for the vial. But before his fingers could touch the glass, a shadow materialized from the darkness behind Delia.
A hand, massive and powerful, clamped around the guard’s throat.
Crack.
The guard collapsed to the floor, instantly lifeless.
Marcus Moretti gasped, taking a step back as the light illuminated the man who had just stepped into the warehouse.
It was Lincoln Frost.
He looked pale, and his breathing was slightly labored, but he stood tall, his dark eyes burning with a lethal, terrifying intensity. In his right hand, he held a black automatic pistol, pointed directly at Marcus’s chest. Behind him, Bruno and six heavily armed security guards poured into the warehouse, quickly surrounding the remaining Moretti men.
"L-Lincoln?" Marcus stammered, his face turning a sickly shade of gray. "How... how are you alive? Garrett said—"
"Garrett is currently screaming in a basement," Lincoln said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that echoed off the metal walls. "And as for the poison... you underestimated my nurse."
Delia quickly ran to Naomi, kneeling beside her and pulling a pair of medical scissors from her pocket to cut the ropes. "I've got you, baby. You're safe now." She pulled Naomi into a tight embrace, burying her face in the girl's damp hair.
"You lied to me," Marcus hissed, glaring at Delia.
"I'm a nurse," Delia said, looking over her shoulder at him with fierce pride. "I know how to administer medicine fast. I flushed his system in the car before we even came here."
"Enough," Lincoln declared. He stepped closer to Marcus, the barrel of his gun never wavering. "You touched the only people in this city I care about, Marcus. You thought you could use a child to break me?"
"Lincoln, please," Marcus pleaded, his hands raised. "We can make a deal. The northern docks... you can have them. All of them. Just let me go."
"The docks were already mine," Lincoln said coldly. "And your life is forfeit."
"No!" Delia cried out, rising to her feet and standing between Lincoln and the trembling mob boss. "Lincoln, don't. Not in front of Naomi. She's just a child. Don't let her see this."
Lincoln froze. His finger rested on the trigger, his knuckles white. He looked at Delia, then down at the terrified eight-year-old girl clutching her aunt's coat.
The silence in the warehouse stretched, tense and heavy. For a long moment, Delia feared that the monster in Lincoln would win—that the ruthless king of Hadley would demand blood, no matter the cost.
But as Lincoln looked into Delia’s pleading eyes, something in him shifted. The lethal tension in his shoulders slowly dissolved. He lowered the gun.
"Bruno," Lincoln said, his voice flat. "Take Marcus and his men. Turn them over to the federal agents we've been paying off. Make sure they never see the light of day again."
"Yes, boss," Bruno said, his men quickly moving in to disarm and drag the remaining Moretti thugs away.
Lincoln walked over to Delia and Naomi. He looked down at the little girl, his expression surprisingly soft. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver pocket watch, handing it to her.
"For your bravery," he said quietly.
Naomi took the watch, her tears drying as she looked up at the tall, imposing man. "Thank you, mister."
Lincoln then looked at Delia. "Are you alright?"
May you like
"I am now," she whispered, a tear of relief finally slipping down her cheek. "Thank you, Lincoln."
"No," he said, reaching out to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. "Thank you for showing me that there is another way to live."
