Chapter 6 - BLOOD AND CONSCIENCE
The clock was ticking. Sarah had no idea what time it was, but the faint blue hue of pre-dawn light slipping through a high, barred window told her that sunrise was rapidly approaching.
Ignoring the agonizing pain shooting through her surgical scars, Sarah began rocking her body side to side.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The wooden chair tipped further with each movement until, with a heavy thud, she crashed onto her side on the concrete floor. Pain exploded in her shoulder—the very shoulder that had taken a bullet three weeks ago. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper to keep from screaming.
Lying on her side, she maneuvered her bound hands toward the rusted metal pipe bracket.
Her fingers brushed against the sharp, jagged edge of the corroded iron. She began frantically rubbing the nylon ropes against the metal edge, moving her wrists up and down in a fast, rhythmic motion.
Friction. Heat. Tear.
The rough metal cut into her skin, blood dripping onto the cold floor, but Sarah didn't stop. She pushed through the agony, thinking of Toby waiting for her, thinking of little Leo terrified in some dark safehouse, waiting for a attack that was coming at sunrise.
Snap.
The first strand of nylon gave way. Encouraged, Sarah pushed harder, pulling her wrists apart with all her strength until the entire binding snapped.
She untied her ankles, pulled herself up against the wall, and stood shaking on her feet. Her body was broken, bruised, and exhausted, but her mind was fiercely clear.
She tiptoed toward the door. Through the small iron viewing grate, she saw two Valenti guards standing in the hallway, playing cards on a overturned wooden crate. A heavy set of brass keys hung from the belt of the taller guard.
Sarah looked around her cell for a weapon. Near the corner sat a heavy, discarded iron pipe length, roughly two feet long.
She picked up the pipe, testing its weight in her hands. She had never struck another human being in anger in her entire life. She was a hotel server who picked up dirty dishes and folded napkins.
He is not broken, she remembered telling Leo about his toy robot. He just needed help.
Sarah banged the iron pipe hard against the metal door.
"What the hell?" one of the guards muttered outside.
The heavy lock clicked. The iron door creaked open, and the taller guard stepped inside, his hand reaching for his sidearm. "Hey! Keep it down in—"
Sarah swung the iron pipe with everything she had, striking the guard square across the side of his tactical helmet. The metal impact echoed like a bell, and the man collapsed instantly to the floor, unconscious.
The second guard shouted, pulling his weapon, but Sarah didn't give him the chance. She lunged forward, throwing her weight into him, knocking him backward over the wooden crate. They hit the floor in a mess of limbs. The guard's gun slid across the wet concrete floor, disappearing into the shadows.
The guard grabbed Sarah by the throat, squeezing hard, choking the air out of her lungs. "Stupid bitch!" he growled.
Sarah reached blindly around the floor, her fingers wrapping around a discarded glass bottle. She brought it down violently against the side of the guard's head. The glass shattered, and the man went limp, rolling off her.
Gasping for air, Sarah scrambled to her feet. She grabbed the first guard’s dropped keys, his satellite radio, and his tactical flashlight.
She ran down the dark corridor, avoiding the main dock areas, following the smell of fresh ocean air until she found a heavy fire exit door. Pushing it open, she burst out into the cool, damp pre-dawn air of the Brooklyn navy yard.
She was free. But she didn't run away.
Sarah pulled out the captured satellite radio and flipped through the channels until she hit the master frequency Siena had used earlier.
"Siena," Sarah gasped into the receiver, leaning against a rusted shipping container.
A pause on the other end, followed by the sound of rapid shuffling. "Sarah? How did you get that radio?" Siena’s voice sounded shocked.
"I escaped," Sarah said, her breath ragged. "I'm out. But I'm not running away. Siena, listen to me. I know about your sister Mia. I saw the police file in Val's car."
Silence on the radio.
"Enzo Caruso is a terrible man," Sarah continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "He is greedy, ruthless, and he didn't care about the safety of that pier. He deserves to pay for what he did to your family. He deserves to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life!"
"Then why are you stopping me?!" Siena shouted into the radio, her composure slipping entirely. "He killed my sister!"
"Because killing Leo won't give you justice!" Sarah cried back, tears finally streaming down her dirt-streaked cheeks. "It will just turn you into Enzo! You will be the monster who murdered a six-year-old child in his bed! Is that what Mia would want? Do you want her memory attached to the murder of an innocent boy?!"
On the other end of the radio line, Sarah heard Siena catch her breath. A raw, ragged sob broke through the tough mobster persona.
"I have nothing left..." Siena whispered, her voice breaking completely. "Nothing."
"You have your life," Sarah said softly. "Don't give it away for Enzo Caruso's blood. Give me the address of the Long Island compound. Let me stop Enzo before this turns into a massacre."
There was a long, excruciating pause. The wind whistled through the abandoned shipping yard.
"The estate is at 400 Shore Drive, Oyster Bay," Siena finally spoke, her voice quiet, exhausted, and defeated. "My team is already five minutes away. I... I can't stop them from attacking. They have orders to breach at dawn."
Sarah looked at the eastern horizon. The sky was turning a dark, bruised shade of purple. Dawn was here.
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"I'll stop them," Sarah said. "Just order them to stand down if they see me."
Sarah clicked off the radio, ran toward the parking lot of the dockyard, and spotted a black commercial delivery van left idling by a dock worker. Without hesitating, she jumped into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and sped out into the morning light toward Long Island.
