Chapter 4 - Pier 14
The old salt house at the end of Pier 14 was a rotting relic of the nineteenth century, its wooden pilings groaned under the pressure of the rising tide. The air was thick with the stench of low tide, rotting fish, and diesel fuel.
The armored SUV parked in the shadow of a stack of rusted shipping containers. Inside, Hannah sat between Daniel and two of his most trusted men, her hand gripping the edge of the leather seat so hard her knuckles were white.
"Stay in the car," Daniel ordered, checking the magazine of the heavy automatic pistol he pulled from his belt. "If you hear shooting, you do not look out the window. Understood?"
Hannah nodded, her throat too dry to speak.
Daniel slipped out of the car, his dark coat disappearing into the fog almost instantly. He moved like a ghost, a creature born of the dark waterfront.
Inside the salt house, three of Arthur Whitlock’s men were standing around a kerosene heater, their shadows dancing against the peeling walls. In the corner, tied to a heavy iron ring set into the floor, was Caleb. His face was bruised, his shirt torn, but his eyes were bright with a stubborn, defiant light.
"Just give us the key, kid," one of the men said, kicking Caleb's shin with his heavy boot. "Your sister is already dead. Arthur took care of her tonight. There’s no one left to save you."
"You're lying," Caleb spat, his voice hoarse. "My sister is... she's stronger than all of you."
"She was," a cold voice spoke from the doorway.
The man turned, his hand reaching for his gun, but he never cleared his holster. A single, muffled crack echoed through the salt house, and the man crumpled to the floor. The other two men raised their weapons, but Daniel’s men were already through the windows, their movements silent and lethal.
Within thirty seconds, the room was silent again, save for the hum of the kerosene heater.
Daniel walked over to Caleb, kneeling to slice the ropes around his wrists with a pocket knife. "Can you walk?"
"Carver?" Caleb blinked, his vision clearing. "Where’s Hannah? Is she—"
"She’s outside," Daniel said, helping the young man to his feet. "And she’s been looking for you for five months."
As they stepped out into the rain, a pair of headlights suddenly blinded them. A heavy black sedan screeched to a halt at the end of the pier, blocking their path back to the SUV.
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Arthur Whitlock stepped out of the car, a shotgun clutched in his hands, his face twisted in a desperate, final madness.
"Carver!" Arthur roared over the sound of the wind. "You think you can take everything from me? My daughter, my docks, my cargo? I will bury you in this harbor!"
