Chapter 4 - Hunting the Wolf
By Tuesday night, Nathan’s trap had snapped shut.
Arthur Vance had done exactly as he was told. Believing his own life was on the line, he had cut off Mercer’s funding and locked down the safehouses. Denied his escape routes and with the Russo syndicate closing the borders of the city, Grant Mercer had run out of options.
He was cornered.
Caleb’s surveillance team spotted Mercer’s black SUV speeding toward an abandoned railway yard near the city’s industrial edge. It was a desolate, empty expanse of rusted tracks, overgrown weeds, and decaying freight cars—the perfect place for a desperate man to make a final stand.
“He’s got four men with him,” Caleb reported over the tactical radio as Nathan’s convoy converged on the yard. “All heavily armed. They’re trying to reach a private helicopter that just cleared local airspace. It’s landing in five minutes.”
“Double the speed,” Nathan ordered, his hand resting on the silver revolver. “Don't let that chopper touch down.”
The Railway GunfightThe silence of the railway yard was shattered by the roar of engines as Nathan’s SUVs cut off the escape route of Mercer’s vehicle.
Mercer’s driver tried to swerve, but Caleb rammed the front of their car, sending the black SUV spinning into a rusted boxcar. The doors flew open, and Mercer’s men emerged firing.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the rainy darkness like strobes. Nathan stepped out of his car, his movements calm and deliberate despite the bullets biting into the gravel around him. He raised his revolver and fired twice. Two of Mercer’s shooters went down, their weapons clattering against the iron tracks.
Caleb and the rest of the Russo crew moved in, systematically suppressing the remaining guards. Within ninety seconds, the yard was quiet again, save for the hiss of steam from the punctured radiator of the crashed SUV.
Nathan walked slowly toward the wreckage.
Grant Mercer was crawling out of the passenger door, his face covered in blood, his leg broken from the impact. He was clutching a heavy black pistol, his hand shaking violently as he tried to aim it at Nathan.
Nathan didn't even draw his weapon. He simply walked up and stepped on Mercer’s wrist, the bone snapping under the heel of his heavy boot. Mercer let out a high-pitched scream, dropping the gun into the mud.
“You... you don't know what you’re doing,” Mercer gasped, spitting blood onto the gravel. “The Lycans... they’ll destroy you. They’ll destroy this entire city to get those girls back. They’re worth millions to the buyers in Europe!”
Nathan knelt beside him, his expression completely devoid of mercy.
“You made a mistake, Mercer,” Nathan said. “You thought those girls were just cargo. You thought their mother was just a debtor. But they ran to me. And in Chicago, what’s mine is protected. Your syndicate is finished here.”
“Please...” Mercer begged, his eyes wide with the realization of his own mortality. “I can give you names. I can give you the buyers. Just don't kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Nathan said, standing up and turning his back. “That would be too easy. Caleb, call the FBI. Tell them we have the coordinator of the Lycan Syndicate gift-wrapped on the railway tracks. Give them the Vance files too.”
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“What about the helicopter, boss?” Caleb asked, looking up at the sky where the distant thrum of rotors was fading away, having aborted their landing.
“They’re gone,” Nathan said. “And they won't be coming back to Chicago.”
