Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
The gunshot in the enclosed hallway was like a cannon going off.
The recoil kicked into my wrists, but I held the grip firm, remembering Dorian’s voice in my ear from years ago: *Don’t anticipate the shot. Let the wall push back. Fire through the target.*
The first bullet took Vance in the right shoulder, spinning him halfway around and knocking the cane blade from his grip.
He screamed in agony, clutching his shattered clavicle, dropping to his knees on the hallway runner.
I didn't lower the gun.
I took two steps forward, the smell of cordite burning my nostrils, my hands steady as stone. Vance looked up at me, the arrogance stripped entirely from his face, replaced by the sheer, terrified disbelief of a predator brought down by prey.
“Wait—” Vance gasped, raising his left hand. “Clara, wait—”
Before I could make the choice that would stain my soul forever, a shadow exploded from the gloom behind him.
Dorian.
He had dragged his broken, bleeding body up the grand staircase on pure, unadulterated vengeance. With a roar like an injured lion, Dorian tackled Vance into the wall, shattering the framed artwork, driving the heel of his combat boot straight into Vance’s wounded shoulder.
Vance screamed again, a high-pitched wail of agony.
Dorian retrieved the fallen stiletto from the floor with his good right hand. His face was a mask of blackened blood, sweat, and absolute madness. He planted his knee on Vance’s chest, pressing the point of the blade directly against the rival syndicate head's throat.
“Dorian!” I cried out, lowering my firearm, my knees trembling. “Dorian, stop!”
Dorian paused. The blade was already drawing a thin bead of crimson from Vance’s neck. Dorian breathed in ragged, wet gasps, his chest heaving, his gray eyes wild and unfocused, caught in the frenzy of the kill.
“He has to die,” Dorian snarled, not looking at me. “If he draws breath, you are never safe. My child is never safe.”
“He is finished,” I stepped forward, reaching out with a trembling hand, placing my palm gently against Dorian’s bloody cheek. “Look at me, Dorian. Look at me.”
His eyes flickered, the madness warring with the sound of my voice. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to meet my gaze.
“The police are already en route,” I whispered, tears spilling down my face. “Nikolai’s secondary beacon engaged when the power cut. I heard the sirens on the satellite radio five minutes ago. If you slaughter him like an animal right now, they will take you from me. They will take you from our baby.”
Dorian’s chest heaved. Vance lay beneath him, whimpering, entirely broken.
“I won’t let them take me from you,” Dorian whispered, his voice cracking with a sorrow so deep it tore at my soul. “I’d burn the world before I let them separate us again.”
“Then don’t give them a reason,” I begged, pulling his face toward mine until our foreheads touched, our breaths mingling in the cold, smoky air of the corridor. “Let the feds have what’s left of him. Marcus kept files. Everything Vance did is in the vault. Let the law bury him. Come home to me.”
For five agonizing seconds, the fate of our future hung on the razor’s edge of that blade.
Then, with a heavy, shuddering exhale, Dorian dropped the knife.
It clattered harmlessly against the baseboard.
May you like
Dorian slumped forward, his strength entirely spent, collapsing against my shoulder. I caught his weight as best I could, sinking to the floor with him, wrapping my arms around his battered, bleeding body as the distant wail of police sirens and emergency vehicles finally breached the frozen silence of Lake Forest.
***
