Chapter 9 - The Parking Garage
He made bail late Wednesday evening. Eleanor, his aging mother, had put up her house to get him out.
I was working late at the Thorne building. It was past 11:00 PM when I finally took the private elevator down to the executive parking garage. The concrete expanse was cold, dimly lit, and eerily quiet.
As I unlocked my car, a shadow detached itself from the concrete pillar behind me.
"You ruined me."
I didn't flinch. I turned slowly. Richard stood there, reeking of stale whiskey and desperation. His designer suit was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot and manic. He looked pathetic.
"You ruined yourself, Richard. I just stopped covering it up."
He lunged toward me, his face twisting into an ugly mask of rage. "You think you're so smart! You think you can take everything from me? You were nothing before me! You are my wife!"
He reached for my throat.
In the past, I would have frozen. I would have cried. I would have waited for the storm to pass.
Instead, I sidestepped his clumsy, drunken grab, grabbed his extended wrist, twisted it sharply, and drove the heel of my stilettos hard into his knee.
Richard screamed, collapsing onto the concrete, clutching his leg.
Before he could recover, three Thorne Global security SUVs screeched around the corner, bathing us in blinding headlights. Doors flew open, and armed guards swarmed Richard, pinning him face-down against the cold floor.
Marcus stepped out of the lead vehicle, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with a cold fury. He looked at Richard writhing on the ground, then looked at me.
"Are you hurt, Claire?"
May you like
I straightened my jacket and looked down at the man who had auctioned me off for fifty dollars.
"No, Marcus," I smiled, stepping over Richard's prone body. "I've never been better."
