Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Docks
Dominic didn't wait. Leaving Luca and his team to secure the remaining intruders, he and Harper raced toward the estate's rear garage compound.
The air was heavy with the smell of gasoline and rain. The heavy steel door of the primary workshop was swinging open in the wind.
Tyrell was there, throwing a heavy duffel bag into the trunk of an unmarked police sedan. He turned, holding a detonation trigger in one hand and his service weapon in the other.
"Stay back!" Tyrell screamed, his eyes wild, hair matted with sweat. He looked completely unhinged, the polished officer entirely replaced by a desperate rat. "I have charges set along the main foundation! You shoot me, I drop the dead-man switch and tear this whole place to the ground!"
Dominic stopped twenty feet away, his gun lowered at his side. Harper stepped up beside Dominic, her pistol trained directly on Tyrell's chest.
"Put the gun down, Marcus," Harper said, her voice cold as ice.
Tyrell laughed hysterically. "Or what, Harper? You're going to shoot me? You don't have the stomach for it! You're a scared little girl who spent eight months sleeping in gas station parking lots!"
"She isn't alone anymore, Tyrell," Dominic said smoothly.
"Shut up!" Tyrell roared, aiming his gun at Dominic. "You think you're untouchable, Vance? I burned your family and I slept like a baby that night! Your little girl cried for you, you know that? She called your name until the smoke got her!"
Dominic’s face didn't twitch, but the air around him seemed to freeze solid.
"I know," Dominic said softly. "And that's why you aren't leaving this property."
Suddenly, a high-pitched siren wailed in the distance. Red and blue lights flashed through the trees along the main driveway. Not local police—heavy federal vehicles. Maya had successfully transmitted the decrypted files, murder footage, and internal logs directly to the FBI regional director and the State Attorney General.
Tyrell glanced toward the driveway, panic breaking his concentration for a split second.
That second was all Dominic needed.
Dominic didn't fire at Tyrell's chest. He fired a single, precise round into Tyrell's right wrist.
The gun and the detonation switch flew from Tyrell’s hand as he shrieked in pain, clutching his shattered wrist. Before he could recover, Harper stepped forward and kicked the detonator across the concrete floor, far out of reach.
Tyrell fell to his knees, panting, blood dripping onto his boots. He looked up at Harper, trying to squeeze out one last manipulate smile. "Harper... baby... please. We can fix this. Think of Emma..."
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Harper stared down at the man who had terrorized her life, who had killed innocent people, who had broken her child’s voice.
"Emma spoke tonight, Marcus," Harper said softly, looking him dead in the eye. "And the first thing she said was that she hates you."
