Chapter 5 - The Ambush
The gala was a massacre without a single drop of blood spilled. By midnight, the rumors were flying. Investors were pulling out of Vance’s company via frantic phone calls in the coatroom. Victoria was a pariah, shunned by the very people she had tried to impress.
Clara and Julian left the hotel triumphant.
But desperate animals are the most dangerous.
As Julian’s sedan pulled into the underground parking garage of his city penthouse, the lights suddenly flickered and died. Pitch blackness swallowed the vehicle.
"Down!" Julian roared, shoving Clara’s head into his lap just as the deafening shatter of automatic gunfire ripped through the garage.
The reinforced glass of the sedan took a heavy beating. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the armored plating.
Marcus threw the car into reverse, but another dark SUV blocked the exit. They were boxed in.
Julian pulled a sleek, suppressed handgun from a hidden compartment under his seat. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying calm. He wasn't afraid; he was furious.
"Stay on the floor," he commanded Clara.
"Julian, no!" she cried, grabbing his sleeve.
He paused, looking down at her. In the darkness, illuminated only by the faint red glow of the dashboard, he gently brushed a stray curl from her face. "I promised I would protect you. I don't break my promises."
He kicked open the heavy door and rolled into the shadows.
Clara squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the horrifying symphony of violence. Pop. Pop. The sound of breaking glass. Men shouting in pain. It lasted exactly forty-five seconds.
Then, silence.
The car door opened, and Clara flinched. But it was Julian. His suit jacket was ruined, and there was a streak of blood on his cheek, but his eyes were steady.
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"It’s over," he breathed, offering her his hand.
Clara looked at his outstretched hand, covered in the blood of men who had tried to take her back to the nightmare. She didn't hesitate. She took it.
