His Dead Lover In A New Body

The rusted pickup truck sputtered and died a block away from the industrial zone.

Briana grabbed a heavy iron crowbar from the passenger seat and slipped out into the darkness, ignoring the fiery protests of her swollen ankle.

The abandoned auto shop loomed ahead, a massive skeleton of rusted corrugated metal surrounded by overgrown weeds. A single, flickering streetlamp cast long, distorted shadows.

She avoided the main garage doors. She crept around to the back of the building and found a large ventilation grate. She jammed the crowbar into the rusted bolts and snapped them off with a violent twist.

She squeezed into the narrow metal shaft. The air inside was thick with the smell of old motor oil, mold, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.

She dropped down from the vent into a dark corridor. Using the faint glow of her phone screen, she found the heavy iron door leading to the basement.

She slid Doyle's key into the padlock. It clicked open.

She pulled the heavy door. The stench of rot and blood hit her like a physical wall.

In the center of the basement, Eleonora was slumped against a concrete pillar, her wrists bound above her head with thick chains. She wasn't moving.

Briana's heart seized. She sprinted over and pressed two fingers against Eleonora's neck. A weak, thready pulse fluttered against her skin.

Tears burned Briana's eyes. She frantically used the keys to unlock the padlock on the chains.

The heavy metal fell away. Eleonora's broken body collapsed forward. Briana caught her, absorbing her weight.

Eleonora's swollen eyes fluttered open. She saw Briana and let out a weak, terrified gasp. "Run... it's a trap..."

Before the words fully left her mouth, the screech of tires echoed outside. Blinding headlights swept across the small basement windows.

Heavy boots slammed against the pavement. The metallic clack-clack of shotguns being pumped shattered the silence. The gang had arrived.

Briana tried to lift Eleonora onto her back, but her mother let out a horrific scream of pain. Her ribs were shattered. She couldn't be moved quickly.

Despair, cold and absolute, washed over Briana. She couldn't fight off an armed gang while carrying a dying woman. They were going to die down here.

The iron door at the top of the stairs was kicked open. Heavy footsteps began descending.

Briana bit her lip so hard it bled. She pulled out the burner phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed the only number that could save them.

It rang three times.

"Where are you?" Clark's voice came through the speaker, low, icy, and vibrating with suppressed fury.

"South Side auto shop," Briana choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please. Save my mother."

"Hide," Clark ordered. The line went dead.

Briana dragged Eleonora behind a massive pile of rotting tires. She pulled a heavy, grease-stained tarp over them, plunging them into total darkness.

The basement door swung open. Two massive men covered in gang tattoos walked in, holding shotguns. The beams of their flashlights sliced through the dark, sweeping across the room.

Briana clamped her hand over Eleonora's mouth. She held her own breath.

The heavy boots splashed in the puddles on the floor. Step. Step. Step. They were getting closer.

The flashlight beam hit the tarp. A tattooed hand reached out to rip it away.

Suddenly, the night exploded.

A deafening barrage of automatic gunfire erupted outside.

The two gang members spun around in shock. Before they could raise their weapons, the basement windows shattered inward.

Two cylindrical canisters rolled across the floor.

BANG!

Blinding white light and a concussive shockwave ripped through the room. The gang members screamed, dropping their guns and clutching their eyes.

Within three seconds, a team of men in full black tactical gear repelled through the windows. They moved with lethal precision, tackling the blinded gang members and zip-tying their wrists before they could even breathe.

The tarp was suddenly yanked back.

Briana flinched, raising her hands.

Jairo stood over her, wearing a Kevlar vest, an assault rifle slung across his chest. He looked down at her shivering form.

He tapped his earpiece. "Target secured."

He waved his hand, and two combat medics rushed forward with a stretcher.