Once outside, the two of them stopped and looked at each other.
—Keys. I'm driving. —Erin said, holding out her hand.
—Do you see my car anywhere? —Ethan shrugged.
—Damn it, I'm so mad at you I forgot.
Erin smacked her forehead and walked toward her gray Dodge.
That gave Ethan a headache. His truck had dozens of bullet holes, and the engine was probably damaged.
It hadn't even been that long, and he already needed to change cars again.
When the vehicle started, Ethan rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.
—Liar. I thought you were just joking yesterday.
Erin's voice came out through clenched teeth. Unexpectedly, this guy had gone off to buy a house without telling her anything. If it weren't for the incident, she'd still be in the dark.
Thinking about it made her furious.
—What did I lie about? I told you a long time ago… I'm a millionaire.
—Go to hell! —Erin snapped angrily— And that thing about being a shareholder in an Indian casino? Who the hell would believe that kind of nonsense? I thought you were just well-off, not that you had millions of dollars sitting in your basement.
Ethan took a drag from his cigarette and muttered:
—The problem is… I actually am a shareholder in the casino. Otherwise, how do you think I'd have that much cash?
The vehicle swerved slightly, and the cigarette slipped from his hand, falling onto his jeans.
He quickly slapped it away, but not before it burned a hole.
—Shit… these jeans cost me 200 dollars.
Ethan stared at the hole with a pained expression.
—I don't want to talk to you right now.
Erin straightened the wheel and said through clenched teeth:
—Liar.
The vehicle sped forward and soon arrived at the boxing gym.
During the drive, they received a photo of Holloway from Jin: a bald, muscular Black man, whose most distinctive feature was his pair of boxer's ears.
His ears were deformed, almost like swollen lumps.
After looking at the photo, the two of them pushed open the glass door.
As soon as they entered, they heard a steady series of pounding sounds. It felt like a small factory inside, except there were boxing rings set up in the middle.
They looked around and spotted someone who seemed to be a trainer, so they approached quickly.
—Hit harder!
A bulky man in a tank top was instructing someone hitting a punching bag.
The technique was good; the bag didn't swing wildly, and the force was being transferred properly.
Ethan reached out and grabbed the punching bag.
—Who are you?
The uninvited action drew annoyance, and the bulky man frowned.
—You a trainer here?
Erin lifted the edge of her coat and revealed her badge.
The bulky man sized her up, then glanced at Ethan.
—Depends. Who's asking?
Ethan pulled out his phone and opened the photo.
—We're looking for Marcus Holloway. We have a few questions.
The man clenched his fist, a tight smile forming on his lips.
—I don't know that person. Sorry, I need to get back to work.
Ethan stepped closer, locking eyes with him coldly.
—Let me be clear, my friend… I've had a bad day. So if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll have a dozen patrol cars here in under five minutes and tear this place apart brick by brick until I find him…
Those words darkened the man's expression.
He clenched his jaw, then quickly pointed to the side.
Ethan understood and gestured for Erin to step outside. Moments later, the man followed.
—This is all I can give you.
Ethan snatched the note from his hand and checked it immediately. It was an address… just a few blocks away.
Erin didn't waste time. She nodded once and was already pulling out her phone.
—We need backup. Possible location confirmed.
Minutes later, the vehicle stopped at a safe distance. The engine shut off, and the silence grew heavier.
They opened the trunk.
The metal creaked as it lifted, revealing neatly arranged gear. Without a word, they began suiting up: vests, radios, weapons.
The sharp sound of Velcro tightening broke the quiet.
Just as they finished, the rest of the team arrived. Hank and the others stepped out almost in sync, doors slamming shut.
—The DA just sent the warrant. We're good to go —Halstead reported, shotgun in hand, eyes forward.
—Let's move!
Ethan released the safety and brought his arm down hard.
Olinsky led Ruzek and Halstead to the back door, while the other four rushed toward the gray-white wooden house ahead.
Ethan nodded, and Antonio swung the battering ram high.
—Chicago PD!
With a loud crash, the lock gave way.
Ethan rushed into the living room, weapon up, and the others followed in.
—Clear!
They swept the house quickly.
Noticing movement from the lower level, Ethan moved toward the basement stairs.
As soon as he raised his hand, everyone behind him froze.
—Give it to me.
He gestured to Olinsky's belt. Olinsky pulled out a flashbang and handed it over.
Antonio instinctively stepped back—he hadn't fully recovered from last time.
Once everyone took cover, Ethan pulled the pin.
With a quick motion, he threw it down the stairs.
—Bang!
A blinding flash and deafening blast filled the basement.
—Ah!
A piercing scream echoed.
One of the men, completely disoriented, crouched in a corner, howling.
—Bang, bang, bang!
Another fired wildly with his eyes shut.
The deformed ears belonged to Holloway.
He couldn't even tell direction anymore.
Ethan stepped back suddenly, shielding Antonio.
—Clang!
A stray bullet hit a hanging frying pan, leaving a dent.
A killing intent flashed in Ethan's eyes.
He crouched and unleashed a burst from his AR-15.
Holloway's body tore apart under the gunfire, yet he kept pulling the trigger.
The man in the corner was also hit, a mist of blood erupting from his head.
—Click!
The gunfire only stopped when the magazine ran dry.
Holloway dropped his weapon, fell to his knees, and slammed his head against the floor.
—Ugh!
With everything over, Ethan exhaled.
—Ruzek, with me.
He headed down the stairs.
Plastic sheets covered the basement floor.
The bodies… were naked.
And in the center lay something far worse.
A dismembered body.
Limbs and head severed.
The smell of blood was overwhelming.
Antonio covered his nose.
Ruzek forced himself down, his expression tightening.
Olinsky spoke coldly:
—If you puke, you clean it. Two weeks patrol.
A necessary step.
Erin stayed upstairs. She didn't need to see it.
Later, back at the station, Sabrina was taken for processing.
Ethan crushed her business card and tossed it in the trash.
—Bang!
A thick stack of paperwork hit his desk.
Erin again.
—Hey, I got a little hurt in the shootout… mind helping me with this? —Ethan grinned.
—Screw you… you're fine.
She flipped him off.
Then leaned in slightly:
—And slow down. Do you know how many you've taken down since you got back? IA will come knocking.
—Yeah… I get it.
She was right.
Something in him hadn't settled.
He'd been cold… mechanical.
Like a butcher.
That couldn't continue.
Later, as they wrapped up—
—I'll go with you.
Erin stood up quickly.
—You sure?
—I can handle it alone.
—After today? No chance —Antonio smirked— Think of it as advance payment for drinks, Richie Rich.
—Advance? Since when?
—Since we saw those bags —Ruzek shrugged.
—Six million —Antonio murmured— I think you can afford it.
—Start with yourselves —Erin cut in— And order expensive whiskey.
—Two drinks each. Domestic only.
—One round per million.
—That's six.
—Perfect. Six rounds.
Ethan shook his head.
—Fine…
—Cash only? —Ruzek added.
Ethan laughed.
—Not happening.
—Then move it.
They all headed out together, laughing, shoving lightly.
—No fancy umbrella drinks!
—If it has a garnish, it doesn't count!
Erin watched them go, shaking her head… a faint smile slipping through.
Then she turned off the office lights and followed.