Chapter 17 - The Tarmac
Clara stood at the private aviation terminal at O'Hare. Victor had arranged a charter flight to London, paid for from a ghost account Julian would never be able to trace.
"The plane is fueled, Ms. Vance," the pilot said, taking her duffel bag.
Clara turned to Victor. "Thank you. Keep him safe, Victor."
"I'll try," Victor said grimly.
Clara turned and began walking up the metal stairs to the jet. The engines were already whining, preparing for takeoff. She reached the door and took one last look at the gray Chicago skyline.
Tires screamed across the tarmac.
A black Maybach smashed through the security gate, drifting violently before slamming on the brakes right in front of the jet.
Julian leapt out of the driver's seat before the car had even fully stopped. He looked wild—his tie gone, his suit jacket discarded, his eyes burning with absolute panic.
"Clara!" he roared over the sound of the jet engines.
Clara froze on the stairs.
Julian sprinted up the metal steps, grabbing her by the shoulders. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"
"I'm saving you!" Clara cried, tears spilling over her cheeks. "The Council wants me! If I stay, they will destroy everything you've built!"
"I don't care about the hotels!" Julian screamed back, pulling her tight against his chest. "I don't care about the money, or the power, or the empire! Let it all burn! I am not letting you go!"
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"Julian, they will kill you!"
"Let them try," Julian snarled, kissing her fiercely, pouring every ounce of his dominant, ruthless soul into the embrace. "You are my empire now, Clara. You are my only world."
