Wrench & Blood

The Cabin in the Woods

The drive north took forty-five minutes.

Adam drove. Micheal rode shotgun, a rifle across his lap. The sedan was another stolen car—a gray four-door that looked like every other commuter vehicle on the road. No plates. No GPS. No connection to anything.

Route 9 cut through the industrial sprawl of Blackhaven's northern edge, then opened into farmland. Fields of dead grass. Barns with collapsed roofs. The occasional gas station, boarded up and forgotten.

Adam watched the odometer. At exactly 19.7 miles from the city limit, he spotted the dirt track.

It was little more than two ruts in the mud, hidden behind a stand of pine trees. No sign. No mailbox. Just a gap in the fence and a pair of tire tracks leading into the dark.

"This is it," Adam said.

"Kill the lights," Micheal said.

Adam turned off the headlights. The sedan crept forward, engine barely idling, tires crunching on gravel and pine needles. The trees closed in around them, blocking out the gray sky.

The track wound for half a mile, then opened into a clearing.

The cabin was small—a single-story structure made of logs and tar paper. A chimney rose from the roof, smoke curling into the air. A pickup truck was parked out front. Black. Muddy. No plates.

And standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette, was Leo Cross.

Adam killed the engine.

Cross didn't look up. He was staring into the trees, his face blank, his body relaxed. He looked like a man who had nothing to fear.

"He knows we're here," Micheal whispered.

"How?"

"Because he's not stupid. He heard the engine."

"Then why isn't he running?"

"Because he's not scared of us."

Adam reached for his gun. Micheal grabbed his wrist.

"Wait."

"For what?"

"For him to make the first move."

Cross took a long drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke into the cold air, watched it dissipate, then flicked the butt into the mud.

"You can come out now," Cross called. His voice was deep, calm, almost bored. "I've been waiting for you."

Adam exchanged a glance with Micheal. Then he opened the door and stepped out.

The cold hit him immediately. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke and something else—something metallic. Blood, maybe. Old blood.

Cross didn't move. He stood on the porch, hands at his sides, no weapon visible.

"Adam Kosta," Cross said. "Danny's little brother. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You killed him."

"I did my job. There's a difference."

"Not to me."

Cross smiled. It was a thin, cruel expression. "Cole said you were angry. I didn't think you were stupid enough to come here alone."

"I'm not alone."

Micheal stepped out of the car. Cross's eyes flickered to him, and for a split second, something crossed his face. Surprise. Maybe recognition.

"Micheal Vance. I heard you were dead."

"You heard wrong."

"Your sister will be disappointed."

"My sister can go to hell."

Cross chuckled. "She's already there. She just doesn't know it yet." He stepped off the porch, his boots squelching in the mud. "So what's the plan? You shoot me here? Leave my body for the coyotes?"

"The plan is you tell me everything. And then I decide if you live or die."

"And if I don't feel like talking?"

"Then I make you."

Cross laughed. It was a loud, genuine sound. "You? A mechanic? You're going to make me talk? I've been tortured by professionals. I've had my fingernails pulled out with pliers. I've been waterboarded. I've had a gun to my head more times than I can count. You don't scare me, little brother."

"I'm not trying to scare you. I'm trying to give you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Help me take down Cindy. Give me the evidence I need. And I let you walk."

Cross stared at him. Then he laughed again. "You think I'd betray Cindy? She's the only reason I'm alive. The cartel, the money, the protection—all of it comes from her. I turn on her, I'm dead within a week."

"You're dead either way. At least this way, you get to choose how."

Cross's smile faded. He looked at Adam with something like respect. "You've got balls. I'll give you that. But you're wasting your time."

He turned his back and walked toward the cabin door.

Adam drew his gun. "Don't."

Cross stopped. He didn't turn around. "You going to shoot me in the back?"

"If I have to."

"Then do it."

Adam's finger tightened on the trigger. He could see it—the bullet tearing through Cross's spine, the big man crumpling into the mud, the blood pooling around his body.

But he didn't shoot.

Because shooting Cross in the back wouldn't get him anything. No information. No evidence. Just a body and a lot of questions.

"Turn around," Adam said.

Cross turned. His hands were still at his sides. His face was calm.

"You can't do it," Cross said. "You don't have the stomach."

"I have the stomach. I just don't have the time to bury you."

"Then what?"

"You're going to tell me about the cabin."

"What about it?"

"Who else knows about it? Who else comes here?"

Cross's eyes narrowed. "No one. This is my place. Mine alone."

"Then why is there another set of tire tracks?"

Cross looked at the ground. Adam was right—besides the pickup truck's tracks, there was a second set. Fresher. Smaller. Leading around the back of the cabin.

Cross's face went pale.

Adam raised his gun. "Who's here?"

"No one."

"Then you won't mind if I check."

Adam walked toward the back of the cabin, gun raised. Micheal followed, covering the tree line.

The back of the cabin had a small porch, a stack of firewood, and a door. The door was slightly open.

Adam pushed it open with his foot.

Inside, the cabin was dark. A single kerosene lamp burned on a table, casting flickering shadows. The air smelled like sweat and fear.

And tied to a chair in the corner was a woman.

She was young—mid-twenties—with dark hair and a bruised face. Her wrists were bound with zip ties. Her mouth was taped shut. Her eyes were wide, terrified.

Adam recognized her.

"Sandra?"

---

Sandra Holloway. The bartender from The Rust Nail. The woman who had given him Danny's note. The woman who had sent him to Micheal.

She was here. Tied to a chair in Leo Cross's cabin.

Adam crossed the room in three strides, ripped the tape from her mouth. She gasped, coughed, tried to speak.

"He—he brought me here—last night—he knows—"

"Knows what?"

"Knows about you. About the ledger. About everything. Cindy told him. She knows you're building an army. She knows about the feds. She knows everything."

Adam turned to Cross, who was standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

"You took her?"

"She's a loose end. She's been feeding information to Danny for months. To you. She's the informant."

Adam's blood ran cold.

Sandra was the informant. The person inside Cindy's organization. The one Danny had been working with.

"Is that true?" Adam asked.

Sandra nodded. Tears streamed down her face. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. But I couldn't. If Cindy found out—"

"She found out," Cross said. "And now you're both dead."

He reached into his jacket.

Micheal fired first.

The shot was deafening in the small cabin. Cross staggered back, clutching his shoulder. Blood poured between his fingers. He hadn't drawn a weapon—he'd been reaching for a cigarette.

Micheal had shot an unarmed man.

"What the hell?" Adam shouted.

"He was going for a gun," Micheal said. His voice was cold. "I saw it."

"He wasn't—"

"Trust me. I saw it."

Cross slumped against the doorframe, breathing hard. His face was pale, his teeth clenched against the pain.

"You should have let me shoot him," Cross said. "It would have been cleaner."

"Shut up." Adam turned back to Sandra. He cut her zip ties with a knife from his pocket. She rubbed her wrists, wincing.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so."

"Then walk."

He helped her to her feet. She was shaky, but she could stand.

Cross watched them from the doorway, his good hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder. "You're making a mistake. Cindy won't stop. She'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."

"Then she'll have a long walk."

Adam led Sandra out of the cabin. Micheal followed, his gun still trained on Cross.

At the car, Adam opened the back door and helped Sandra inside. Then he turned to Micheal.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About why you shot an unarmed man."

"He wasn't unarmed." Micheal pulled something from his pocket. A small revolver. Chrome-plated. "I took this off him when he was on the porch. He had it in his coat."

Adam stared at the gun. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I wanted to see what you'd do. You had a clear shot. You didn't take it. That's a problem."

"I'm not an executioner."

"Then you're going to get us all killed."

Micheal got into the driver's seat. Adam stood in the cold for a moment, looking at the cabin. Cross was still in the doorway, watching them.

Then Adam got into the car.

They drove away, leaving Cross bleeding in the mud.

---

The drive back to Blackhaven was silent.

Sandra sat in the back, wrapped in a blanket Adam had found in the trunk. Her face was bruised, her lip split. But she was alive.

"How did he find you?" Adam asked.

"I don't know. I was careful. I always was careful." She wiped her eyes. "But Cindy has people everywhere. Someone must have seen me talking to Danny. Or to you."

"How long have you been working with Danny?"

"Two years. He approached me at the bar. Said he needed someone on the inside. Someone Cindy wouldn't suspect."

"Why did you agree?"

"Because I wanted out. Same as him. Cindy owns everyone in this city. I wanted to be free."

"And now?"

"Now I just want to live."

Adam turned to look at her. "You should have told me."

"I couldn't. If you knew, you might have acted differently. Cindy would have noticed. And I would have ended up like Danny."

"You almost did."

"I know."

Adam faced forward. The road stretched ahead of them, dark and empty.

"What did Cross tell you? Before we got there?"

"He said Cindy is planning something big. A shipment. The biggest one yet. Fifty girls. Coming in three days."

"Where?"

"The Docks. Warehouse 17. The same place Cole mentioned."

"When?"

"Thursday night. Midnight."

Adam looked at Micheal. "That's our window."

"Our window for what?"

"To hit her where it hurts. To take the shipment and destroy her operation in one night."

"That's suicide," Micheal said. "Warehouse 17 is a fortress. Dozens of guards. Cameras. Alarms."

"Then we need a better plan."

"We need an army."

Adam thought about Elena's crew. Five people. Plus him, Micheal, Sandra. Seven against dozens.

"We need more than an army," Adam said. "We need a miracle."

---

They reached the safehouse at 9 AM.

Elena was waiting. So were Dom, Vince, Rosa, Frank, and Leo. They stared as Sandra limped through the door.

"Who's this?" Elena asked.

"Sandra. She's with us."

"Is she the informant?"

"She is."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "Can we trust her?"

"She was tied to a chair in Cross's cabin. If she was working for Cindy, she'd be dead."

"Or she's playing a longer game."

"Everyone's playing a longer game. That doesn't mean they're not on our side."

Adam sat down at the table. The map of Blackhaven was spread out in front of him.

"Cindy is moving a shipment in three days. Fifty girls. Warehouse 17. We're going to stop it."

"How?" Frank asked.

"We're going to hit her from the inside."

"Inside? We don't have anyone inside."

"We do now." Adam looked at Sandra. "She's going to get us in."

Sandra's face went pale. "You want me to go back? To Cindy?"

"I want you to do what you've been doing for two years. Feed her information. But this time, the information is a lie."

"What kind of lie?"

"You're going to tell her that I'm desperate. That I'm planning to sell the ledger to the highest bidder. That I'm meeting with a buyer at Warehouse 17 on Thursday night."

"She'll know it's a trap."

"She'll know something is wrong. But she won't be able to resist. The ledger is too valuable. She'll come."

"And when she comes?"

"When she comes, we'll be waiting."

Micheal shook his head. "This is insane. We're seven people. She has an army."

"She has an army. But armies need leaders. We take out Cindy, the army falls apart."

"And how do we take out Cindy?"

Adam pulled out the burner phone. He dialed 1.

Harmon answered. "Kosta."

"I have a plan. But I need your help."

"What kind of help?"

"The kind that comes with guns and badges."

A long pause. "I can't authorize a raid without probable cause."

"Then I'll give you probable cause. Thursday night. Warehouse 17. Cindy is moving a shipment of fifty girls. You show up with enough firepower to stop an army, and you'll have all the evidence you need."

"How do you know this?"

"Because I have someone on the inside. Someone who's been feeding me information for months."

Another pause. "If this is a trap—"

"It's not a trap. It's an opportunity. The biggest one you'll ever get. Take it or leave it."

Harmon was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I'll need proof. Something I can take to my supervisor."

"You'll have it. Thursday night."

"If you're lying to me—"

"I'm not. Just be there."

Adam hung up.

He looked at his crew. At Sandra, bruised but standing. At Micheal, scarred and broken but still fighting. At Elena, Dom, Vince, Rosa, Frank, and Leo—people who had nothing left to lose.

"Thursday night," Adam said. "We end this."