Chapter 9 - The Final Desperation
What happened next occurred in a matter of seconds.
Dr. Harrison Blake realized that his career, his freedom, and his life were effectively over. Men of his status didn't survive twenty-five years in maximum security federal penitentiaries.
With a wild, feral scream, Blake lunged—not at Vincent, not at the federal agents.
He lunged toward Lucas and Leo.
He pulled a small, concealed syringe from his inner breast pocket—a glass ampoule with a three-inch needle filled with clear liquid. A lethal bolus of potassium chloride. If he was going down, he was going to finish what he started.
“If I can’t have the estate, you won’t have them either!” Blake shrieked, his eyes bulging with sheer, manic psychosis.
Julianna screamed, cowering against the wall. The federal agents shouted, raising their weapons, but they couldn't fire without risking hitting the children.
Marcus was three paces too far.
I didn't think. Instinct, forged through years of protecting children from every conceivable danger, took over before my brain could process fear.
I threw myself across the marble floor, driving my shoulder directly into Blake’s midsection.
The impact knocked the breath out of him, sending both of us crashing into a heavy glass coffee table. The table shattered with a deafening roar of splintering crystal.
Blake rolled on top of me, his teeth bared, his face splattered with sweat and spit. His hand brought the syringe down toward my neck, the steel needle glinting in the morning light.
“You filthy little nanny!” he hissed, pressing the needle toward my jugular. “You ruined everything!”
I grabbed his wrist with both hands, muscles burning, veins bulging in my forearms as I fought to keep the lethal needle inches from my skin. The glass shards from the broken table dug deep into my back, sending sharp, searing spikes of pain through my spine.
Then, the weight of the universe shifted.
A hand like an iron vise clamped onto the back of Blake’s neck.
Vincent didn’t just pull Blake off me; he lifted the two-hundred-pound doctor entirely off the floor and hurled him across the room. Blake smashed into the marble fireplace hearth with a sickening crunch of broken ribs, the syringe flying harmlessly out of his hand and shattering against the hardwood floor.
Vincent stepped forward, his boot pinning Blake’s throat to the floor. The fury in Vincent’s eyes was primal, ancient, and terrifying.
“Touch her again,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with a rage so absolute that even the federal agents froze. “Touch anyone under my protection again, Harrison, and I will tear your throat out with my bare hands.”
“Vincent! Step back! Let us handle him!” the lead agent shouted, rushing forward with handcuffs.
Slowly, deliberately, Vincent removed his boot from the gasping doctor’s neck. The agents swarmed Blake, pinning his arms behind his back, ratcheting the steel cuffs tight enough to bruise bone.
Across the room, another pair of agents clicked cuffs around Julianna Vance’s wrists. She was sobbing, hysterically denying everything, blaming Blake, blaming Mrs. Harper, screaming that she was a Vance, that she had rights.
No one listened.
They dragged both of them out into the morning fog, their screams fading into the wail of police sirens echoing down the long estate driveway.
In the living room, absolute silence fell.
I was still sitting on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, breathing heavily. My palms were bleeding from small cuts, and my secondhand cardigan was torn at the shoulder.
Small footsteps patted against the wood.
Two little pairs of arms wrapped around my neck.
Lucas and Leo buried their faces in my shoulders, crying soft, quiet tears of relief.
“Claire,” Leo whispered, his little body trembling against mine. “You stopped the bad man.”
I wrapped my arms around them both, pulling them close, ignoring the sting of the glass against my skin. “I did, sweetheart. He’s gone. Both of them are gone. You’re safe now. I promise you.”
Above us, Vincent stood looking down at the three of us.
May you like
For the first time since I had met him, the cold, untouchable billionaire was weeping. He knelt down into the shattered glass, completely indifferent to his tailored suit or his bloody knees, and wrapped his massive arms around his sons—and around me.
***
