A sickening, heavy pop echoed across the silent docks as the shoulder joint dislocated completely from the socket.
Julian let out a blood-curdling scream, collapsing to his knees against the side of the car. But Marcus wasn't finished. Panicked by the silence of the fifty bikers watching him, Marcus grabbed Julian’s left arm, twisted it aggressively behind his back, and forced it upward until a second, identical pop shattered the air.
Both of Julian’s shoulders hung at unnatural angles. The enforcer collapsed into the puddles, sobbing hysterically in absolute agony, incapable of lifting his hands.
Marcus dropped the boy. He reached with trembling hands into Julian’s suit pocket, fishing out the electronic key fob. He clicked the unlock button.
The Ferrari beeped twice.
I limped forward, the pain in my leg agonizing but manageable now that the adrenaline had stabilized. I pulled the heavy passenger door open.
Maya practically flew out of the car. She buried her face in my waist, sobbing wildly, her small hands gripping my belt. I placed my thick, scarred hand gently on the back of her head, shielding her eyes from the broken men on the pavement.
“It’s okay, little one,” I whispered. “Nobody’s going to put you in a box ever again.”
I looked back at Marcus Thorne. He was standing near his crippled enforcer, sweating profusely in the freezing wind, waiting for his sentence.
“This port is closed, Marcus,” I said, my voice echoing across the quiet water. “You have exactly one hour to get your men, your money, and your cargo out of my city. If I ever see a container with your seal on it again, I will let my brothers dismantle you piece by piece.”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus choked out, bowing his head repeatedly. “Thank you, sir. We’re gone. We’re already gone.”
I didn’t stay to watch him scramble.
I turned away, the torn leather of my jacket flapping in the wind. The fifty bikers simultaneously fired up their massive engines, the roaring sound returning to swallow the pier. Two of the riders pulled forward, dismounting to help me walk, securing Maya safely on the back of a wide, cushioned seat.
I took one last look at the smashed ruins of my customized Cruiser against the shipping container. I was going to miss that bike. It had taken me three years to restore it to perfection.
But as the heavy engines of my network vibrated through my boots, and the little girl gripped my torn jacket safely in the center of our armored convoy, I realized I didn't need the quiet anymore.
The city still needed the Black Dragon.
And the ghost was finally awake.
THE END