Wrench & Blood

The Trap Springs

The alarms kept blaring.

Red lights flashed across Warehouse 17, casting everything in violent pulses. Men with guns swarmed toward the office below. Adam counted twelve. Then fifteen. Then more.

Cindy stood behind her desk, arms crossed, smiling up at him through the glass ceiling.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know?" she called out. Her voice carried easily over the alarms. "You're a mechanic, Adam. Not a strategist."

Adam's mind raced. Rosa had been the leak. He knew that. He'd fed her false intel about the raid time. But Cindy was expecting them. That meant Rosa wasn't the only traitor. Or Rosa had figured out the false intel and passed the real information anyway.

Either way, they were trapped.

"Micheal," Adam said quietly. "How many guards do you see?"

"Too many."

"Sandra?"

"I count eighteen. Maybe twenty."

Adam looked at the catwalk below them. It led to the office door. Beyond that, the main floor. Beyond that, the exits.

Vince and Rosa were supposed to be covering the north and south exits. But if Rosa was a traitor, those exits were probably already compromised.

"Elena," Adam whispered into the radio. "Status."

Static. Then her voice, strained: "We're pinned at the loading dock. Six guards. We took down four, but more are coming."

"Can you get to the girls?"

"Not yet."

"Hold position. I'll come to you."

"Adam—"

He clicked off.

---

Cindy was still talking.

"You know what your problem is, Adam? You think like a mechanic. You see a machine, you think you can take it apart. But this isn't a machine. This is an organism. Cut off one head, two more grow back."

"Then I'll keep cutting," Adam said.

"Bold words. But words don't stop bullets."

She snapped her fingers.

The office door burst open. Four guards flooded in, guns raised. They didn't see Adam and his team on the catwalk above. Not yet.

But they would.

"Micheal," Adam said. "Take the two on the left. Sandra, the right. I'll take the center."

"There's four of them and three of us," Sandra said.

"Then don't miss."

Adam dropped first.

He landed on the glass desk, shattering it. The guards spun, caught off guard. Adam fired twice. The first guard went down. The second guard raised his weapon—

Micheal landed behind him, rifle butt slamming into the back of his skull. The guard crumpled.

Sandra dropped between the remaining two, firing from the hip. One guard screamed and fell. The last guard ran for the door.

Adam shot him in the back.

Four guards. Eight seconds.

Cindy hadn't moved. She stood behind the shattered desk, her arms still crossed, her smile gone.

"Impressive," she said. "But there are twenty more outside. And more on the way. You can't shoot your way through all of them."

"Watch me."

Adam raised his gun.

"You won't shoot me," Cindy said. "You need me alive. For the feds. For your immunity."

"I need you alive. I don't need you conscious."

He stepped toward her.

That's when the door burst open again.

---

Leo Cross walked in.

Adam froze.

Cross was supposed to be dead. The text said he was dead. Harmon confirmed it. A single gunshot to the head. No signs of forced entry.

But Cross was standing in the doorway, very much alive.

He looked different. His head was bandaged. His left arm hung at a strange angle. But his eyes were the same—dead, cold, empty.

"You," Adam said.

"Me." Cross's voice was hoarse. "You thought a little text message would throw me off? Please. I've been playing this game longer than you've been alive."

"The body—"

"Was a homeless man I paid five hundred dollars to take a bullet. Well, not to take it. To receive it. After he was already dead."

Micheal raised his rifle. "Cross—"

"Ah-ah-ah." Cross raised his hand. Behind him, a dozen guards filled the hallway. * "You're outnumbered. Outgunned. And out of time."*

Adam looked at Cindy. At Cross. At the guards.

Twenty-to-one odds. Maybe worse.

"The feds are coming," Adam said.

"The feds," Cindy laughed. "You mean Harmon? He's not coming. I own Harmon. I've owned him for years."

Adam's blood ran cold.

"That's right," Cindy said. "Danny wasn't working for the FBI. He was working for me. Harmon was my inside man the whole time."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Think about it, Adam. Who told you about the shipment? Harmon. Who told you where to find Cross's cabin? Harmon. Who told you the raid time? Harmon. Every step of the way, Harmon was feeding you information—information I wanted you to have."

Adam's mind reeled.

Danny. Harmon. The ledger. The shipment.

All of it. A trap.

"Why?" Adam asked.

"Because I wanted the ledger. Not to destroy it. To use it. Danny's records were thorough—more thorough than my own. With that ledger, I can control every gang in Blackhaven. Every cop. Every politician." Cindy stepped closer. "And you delivered it right to my doorstep."

Adam's hand tightened on his gun.

"The ledger isn't here."

"Of course it is. You brought it with you. You wouldn't trust it to anyone else."

She was right. The ledger was in his jacket. Inside his jacket. Against his chest.

"Give it to me," Cindy said. "And I'll let your friends live."

"And if I don't?"

"Then they die. One by one. Starting with Sandra."

Cross grabbed Sandra by the arm. She struggled, but his grip was like iron.

"Don't," Adam said.

"Then give me the ledger."

---

Adam had a choice.

Give up the ledger. Save his friends. But let Cindy win. Let the trafficking continue. Let Danny's death mean nothing.

Or refuse. Watch Sandra die. Watch Micheal die. Watch Elena and Frank and Dom and Vince and Leo die. And then die himself, with the ledger still in his jacket.

Either way, Cindy won.

Unless—

"Leo," Adam whispered into his radio.

Static.

"Leo, can you hear me?"

A crackle. Then Leo's voice, small and scared: "I'm here."

"The camera loops. How much longer?"

"Maybe five minutes. Then the system resets."

"That's enough. I need you to do something."

"What?"

"Call the real FBI. Not Harmon. The real ones. Tell them what's happening here. Tell them Cindy Vance is trafficking fifty girls. Tell them to bring everyone."

"Adam—"

"Do it now."

Adam clicked off.

He looked at Cindy. At Cross. At the guards.

"I don't have the ledger," he said.

"Liar."

"Check for yourself."

He opened his jacket. Empty. No ledger.

Cindy's smile faltered.

"Where is it?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere you'll never find it."

Cross released Sandra. He walked toward Adam, his dead eyes burning.

"You're lying."

"Try me."

Cross searched him. Patted down his pockets, his waistband, his boots. Nothing.

"It's not here," Cross said.

Cindy's face went cold. "Where?"

"I told you. Somewhere safe."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Adam smiled. It was a thin, hard smile. "You've been playing games, Cindy. You thought you were the hunter. But you're the prey. You always were."

"Kill him," Cindy said.

Cross raised his gun.

---

The lights went out.

Total darkness. The alarms stopped. The red lights died. Everything went silent.

Then the shooting started.

Adam dropped to the floor, pulling Sandra with him. Bullets ripped through the air where they'd been standing. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

"Leo!" Adam shouted into the radio.

"I cut the power. Whole block. You have maybe two minutes before the backup generators kick in."

"That's all I need."

Adam crawled through the darkness, one hand on Sandra's arm, the other on his gun. He couldn't see. But he could hear. Footsteps. Shouting. The click of safeties being released.

"Micheal!"

"Here!" His voice came from the left.

"Follow my voice!"

They converged in the corner of the office, back to back.

"Where's Cindy?" Sandra asked.

"Gone. Cross too."

"The guards?"

"Still here. Still shooting."

Adam pulled out his radio. "Elena. Status."

"We're at the loading dock. Girls are secured. But we can't move. Too many guards."

"Hold tight. Help is coming."

"What help?"

Adam didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

---

The lights flickered back on.

The backup generators hummed to life. Emergency lights bathed the warehouse in pale yellow.

Adam blinked, adjusting to the light.

The office was destroyed. Bullet holes in every wall. Glass everywhere. Bodies on the floor—four guards, dead.

But Cindy and Cross were gone.

And standing in the doorway, guns raised, were a dozen men in tactical gear.

"FBI! Nobody move!"

Adam raised his hands.

A man stepped forward. Not Harmon. Someone else. Older. Gray hair. A scar on his jaw.

"Adam Kosta?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Special Agent-in-Charge Miller. We received an anonymous tip about this location."

"The tip was from me," Leo's voice crackled in Adam's ear.

"About time," Adam muttered.

Miller looked at the shipping containers. At the bodies. At the girls being led out by Elena and her team.

"Is this the shipment?"

"Fifty girls," Adam said. "Cindy Vance. Human trafficking. You'll find records in the office. A hard drive. It has everything."

Miller nodded. "We'll need you to come with us. For questioning."

"I know."

"And the ledger."

Adam reached into his jacket—the inner lining, where he'd sewn a hidden pocket. He pulled out the leather-bound book.

"Here."

Miller took it. "This is everything?"

"Everything Danny died for."

Miller looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, "You're a hard man to find, Kosta."

"I've been told."

---

Outside, the rain had started again.

Adam stood by the warehouse door, watching the feds swarm the building. The girls were loaded into ambulances and buses. The guards were handcuffed and led away.

Micheal sat on the curb, a blanket around his shoulders. Sandra stood beside him, her face pale but alive.

Elena walked over. Dom was behind her, limping but walking. Frank carried Leo the kid on his back—Leo had twisted his ankle escaping through the roof.

"We made it," Elena said.

"Some of us," Adam said.

He looked at the bodies being wheeled out on stretchers. Guards. Cindy's people. But also—he looked closer.

One body. Covered in a sheet. Small.

"Who's that?" Adam asked.

Elena's face went dark. "Rosa."

"What happened?"

"She tried to run. Guards shot her. Thought she was one of us."

Adam stared at the sheet. Rosa had been a traitor. But she'd also been one of Danny's crew. Once.

"She didn't deserve that," Adam said.

"No," Elena agreed. "She didn't."

---

Agent Miller approached. "We didn't find Cindy. Or Cross. They must have escaped during the blackout."

Adam's jaw tightened. "Then we're not done."

"You're done. You're coming with us."

"For questioning."

"Yes."

"And after that?"

Miller looked at him. "That depends on what's in the ledger. And what you're willing to tell us."

Adam nodded. He turned to Micheal.

"Take care of them."

"Where are you going?"

"With them."

"Adam—"

"It's okay. I'll be fine."

He didn't believe that. But he said it anyway.

---

The FBI car pulled away from Warehouse 17.

Adam sat in the back, hands cuffed, watching Blackhaven disappear through the window. The rain streaked the glass, blurring the lights.

He thought about Danny. About the body in Warehouse 14. About the two bullets in the back of his brother's head.

Cindy was still out there. Cross was still out there.

And Harmon—the man who had pretended to be Danny's friend—was still out there.

Adam closed his eyes.

The war wasn't over.

It had just begun.