Chapter 4
The police station's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I clutched my purse tighter, the weight of Ivy's confession still ringing in my ears. My parents' graves seemed to call out to me, demanding justice I'd been too afraid to seek.
"I need to report a murder," I told the desk sergeant, my voice steadier than I felt.
He barely looked up from his computer. "Fill out this form."
I took the clipboard, my hand trembling as I wrote: *Ivy Russell confessed to cutting brake lines on Eduardo and Elena Garcia's car, resulting in their deaths.*
The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. I wiped them away angrily. Crying wouldn't bring them back.
"Officer," I called, sliding the form across the counter. "This is urgent."
He glanced at it, his expression shifting subtly. "Wait here."
I sat on the hard plastic chair, watching officers move through the station. Something felt wrong. The way they avoided my gaze, the hushed conversations that stopped when I looked up.
Twenty minutes later, the sergeant returned. "Someone will be with you shortly."
Another thirty minutes passed. I stood up, a chill running down my spine.
"I need to speak to someone now," I insisted.
"Ma'am, please sit down."
"I'm leaving." I headed for the door, panic rising in my chest.
Two officers blocked my path. "We need you to wait."
"What's happening?" I demanded.
The door behind me opened. I turned, expecting to see a detective.
Instead, three men in suits stepped in—Russell enforcers, their eyes cold and calculating.
"Elaina Garcia?" The tallest one smiled. "We need you to come with us."
I backed away, knocking over a chair. "You can't just—"
The sergeant looked away as they grabbed my arms.
"You shouldn't have gone to the police," one whispered in my ear. "No one betrays the Russells."
---
The warehouse smelled of rust and salt water. They'd blindfolded me during the drive, but I could feel the damp air of the dockyard seeping through the walls.
"Sit her down," a voice ordered.
Rough hands shoved me into a metal chair. The blindfold was ripped away, revealing a cavernous space filled with shipping containers and industrial equipment.
"Your boyfriend chose wrong," the tall enforcer said, securing my wrists with zip ties. "Ivy sends her regards."
"What are you talking about?" I struggled against the restraints.
He didn't answer, just placed a digital timer on the table beside me. The red numbers began counting down from thirty minutes.
---
Ander's phone vibrated as he sat in his office, reviewing shipping contracts. Unknown number.
He answered, turning to the window as Manhattan's skyline blurred in the rain.
"Mr. Lynch," Vincent Russell's voice was smooth as silk. "We need to discuss an urgent matter."
"What do you want?" Ander's jaw tightened.
"I believe you're in a position to make a choice." The screen split into two video feeds.
On the left, Elaina sat tied to a chair, her face bruised, eyes wild with fear. A timer ticked beside her.
On the right, Ivy struggled against ropes binding her to another chair, tears streaming down her face as men with guns stood behind her.
"Choose," Vincent said simply. "Save one, lose the other."
Ander's heart pounded. "Where's Elaina?"
"Dockyard warehouse on Pier 47. And Ivy is at the Westside storage facility."
"I need addresses—"
"You have fifteen minutes, Mr. Lynch. The addresses are on the screen now."
Ander stared at the split screen, his mind racing. If he saved Elaina first, the Russells would kill her later. But if he secured Ivy—the key to the entire Russell operation—he could use her as leverage.
"Tick tock," Vincent reminded him.
Ander grabbed his keys, his decision made.
---
Detective Colter Dunn watched from his unmarked car as two officers emerged from the precinct, speaking urgently into their radios.
"Damn it," he muttered, recognizing the signs of corruption. "They're tipping them off."
He'd been tracking the Russell payroll officers for months, building a case against the corrupt network within the department.
Now, watching Elaina being forced into an unmarked van, he knew he couldn't wait for backup or proper channels.
"Dispatch, this is Dunn," he radioed. "Possible kidnapping at the precinct. I'm pursuing."
He started his car, siren silent as he followed the van through traffic.
---
The warehouse door burst open with a deafening crash as Dunn fired his weapon, taking down the first guard. Two more rushed him from the shadows.
"Police! Drop your weapons!"
Gunfire echoed through the cavernous space. Dunn dove behind a stack of crates, returning fire.
"Find the girl!" someone shouted.
Dunn moved silently through the containers, his training guiding him toward the center of the action.
He found her tied to a chair, her face streaked with tears, the timer now counting down from ten minutes.
"Elaina," he whispered, rushing forward with his knife.
Her eyes widened as he cut her free. "Ander's not coming," she choked out. "He chose her."
Dunn's expression hardened as he pulled her behind him, gun raised toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Stay behind me," he ordered. "We're getting out of here."
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