Chapter 2
The freezing Oregon mist swallowed them the moment they crossed the threshold. Clara kept pace with Julian, the oversized cashmere coat billowing around her ankles. Ahead of them, Samson moved like a guided missile, silently clearing the sightlines of the dark alleyway leading to the black SUV.
Two blocks down, headlights cut through the fog. A rusted utility truck skidded around the corner, its high beams catching the three of them in a blinding wash of halogen.
"Get in," Julian ordered, tossing her the keys as they reached the SUV.
Clara didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the passenger seat. Through the tinted glass, she watched Julian stand perfectly still in the street. Three men piled out of the utility truck. They were carrying heavy iron pipes and a sawed-off shotgun. They looked like scrap-yard dogs looking for a meal. They didn't know they were walking up to a wolf.
The man with the shotgun racked the slide. The sound echoed like a thunderclap.
Julian didn't flinch. Samson lunged. The mastiff didn't bark, didn't growl—he simply became one hundred and sixty pounds of kinetic violence. He hit the man with the shotgun squarely in the chest, dropping him to the asphalt with a sickening crunch.
The other two hesitated. That hesitation cost them their lives. Julian moved with a fluid, terrifying grace. A suppressed weapon materialized in his hand. Two muffled spits cut through the fog. The men dropped before they could even swing their pipes.
Julian whistled sharply. Samson released the screaming man on the ground and trotted back to the SUV, his jaws slick with blood. Julian fired one final shot into the screaming man’s chest, silencing the street once again, and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Seatbelt," Julian said, his voice entirely steady, as if he hadn't just executed three men.
Clara stared at him, her hands trembling as she clicked the buckle into place. She was a paramedic. She saved lives. She spent her nights compressing chests and stopping hemorrhages. She had just watched a man extinguish three lives with the casual precision of an accountant crossing out bad math.
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"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Seattle," Julian replied, throwing the SUV into drive. "Finch just declared war on my syndicate. And you’re the only loose end he has left to pull on. You belong to me now."
