Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 65 - Searing Flames

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART FOUR :: Leave The Front Line Behind

Chapter 65 - Searing Flames

The creaking of beams above echoed throughout the dark, mixing with the whistling of the wind outside and caressing each corner with its presence. James felt his spine straighten as every muscle in his body tensed in preparation. Someone was there, hidden expertly in the dark recesses of the abandoned warehouse. He could feel their presence in his very bones, his instincts sharp from almost an entire month of tracking in unknown territory.

"This is the place," Abdul muttered apprehensively, obviously set on edge by the dank and unsettling atmosphere.

A plank of wood from an above walkway gave a loud groan, the sound resounding through the empty space spread out around them. "We aren't alone here," James whispered, his eyes darting from the dark shadows dancing across the walls and silver beams to the shattered glass window. Boards of wood had been placed sloppily across it and nailed in place to keep the elements out but they were beginning to weaken and fall, slivers of stormy moonlight emerging from the gaps.

"Do you think it's him?" Abdul whispered back, excitement and worry battling in his voice for which would prevail. Their tracking and investigating had led them there, the supposed hideout of Adam Soverage. Through everything James had told him, his friend had become as devoted to the cause as James himself, his loyalty unwavering. James knew the new ally-in-arms was feeling mixed emotions: anticipation that this would be where it would all end and anxiety that it wouldn't turn out the way they hoped.

"It's not him," James replied, the truth of that statement sending shivers through his body. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could feel the answer in his gut, his sixth-sense flaring up to tell him that they were being watched. "He planned this... He knew I would find the Iraqi crest and follow him in order to avenge my friend and protect my sister. He set the bait to draw us here."

A dark, bone-chilling chuckle echoed throughout the building, bouncing off the walls and coming at James from so many directions, all mirroring each other, that it left him unsure of the man's location.

"Who are you?" James yelled out to the general direction from which the voice seemed to be coming from, his eyes flitting around uneasily.

A shot reverberated through the air, the bullet slicing through the thick air surrounding him. Everything happened so fast that before James' instincts could tell him to move, a painful gasp erupted into the chilling silence. His breath caught in his throat and he turned his head just in time to catch Abdul crumbling to the ground, a bullet hole placed directly in the middle of his forehead.

"Your worst nightmare," the voice hissed, wrapping around him as James allowed fear to penetrate his system. He couldn't see its owner but the man seemed to have such accurate aim that James would be dead before he even had the chance to utter a single sound.

Footsteps rang out from the other end of the warehouse, as if the man were steadily moving towards him. James reached behind his back for his semi-automatic, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to get a glimpse of his pursuer. 'He wants you to hear his approach,' James' instincts whispered to him, his mind automatically realizing that the man had somehow gotten down to the ground level of the warehouse without James hearing. The man's footsteps were silent, those of a trained killer, and obviously a ploy to make James nervous, and thus his moves sloppy and predictable. Gripping his pistol tighter in his hand, James spread his feet out beneath him, placing his weight on the balls of his feet in preparation. He wasn't going to let the man's tricks get to him.