Chapter 11 - The Dying Tower
The concrete beneath Alec’s boots groaned with a deep, sickening vibration. Dust and structural pulverized cement burst from the rooftop air ducts, curling into the rain-drenched sky. The penthouse mansion was buckling from the inside out.
""Boss! Get on!"" Marcus roared over the helicopter's intercom, leaning out of the cockpit door. ""The support columns on the south wing are completely sheared! We have less than a minute before the roof caves into the sub-levels!""
Alec glanced down at Clara. She lay against the perimeter railing, her breath coming in ragged, bloody wheezes. The sheer will that had driven her was failing; the physical trauma of her stitched ribs tearing open, combined with the heavy blood loss, was pulling her into shock.
Yet, as she looked up at him through the blinding rain, her eyes weren't filled with fear. They held a dark, bitter curiosity. ""Leave me,"" she coughed, blood spattering her chin. ""Take your bird and go, Alec. Save your precious brother.""
Alec didn't answer. He slung his rifle over his back, bent down, and clamped his hand around the collar of her tactical vest. With a single, brutal jerk, he hoisted her onto his shoulder.
""What are you doing?!"" she gasped, struggling weakly, her fists hammering against his ballistic armor. ""Let me die, you bastard!""
""Death is too clean for you,"" Alec barked, sprinting toward the Eurocopter as another secondary explosion rocked the pad, cracking the helipad tarmac in two. ""You're going to face Julian. And then you're going to tell me every name on Donald's payroll.""
Alec hurled Clara through the open cabin door of the helicopter. He leaped in behind her just as the concrete slab beneath the landing skids gave way, dropping twenty feet into the collapsing penthouse suite below.
""Pull up! Marcus, pull up!"" Alec shouted.
Marcus slammed the collective lever upward. The turbine engines screamed in agony as the blades bit into the heavy air, fighting gravity. For two terrifying seconds, the helicopter hovered on the brink of the abyss, skids scraping against falling debris.
With a shuddering jolt that tossed Alec and Clara against the bulkhead, the aircraft broke free of the vortex, clawing its way up into the stormy night sky.
Alec looked through the window. Below them, the grand Vance-Thorne estate was collapsing in a colossal heap of fire and crushing stone, a tomb of greed sinking into the dark ocean waves.
Alec turned back to the cabin. Clara was curled on the aluminum floor, shivering uncontrollably.
He moved toward the medical crate strapped to the bulkhead, pulling out a field tourniquet and sterile gauze. He knelt over her, pressing the pads against her bleeding torso.
May you like
Clara looked up at him, her vision unfocusing. ""Why..."" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thrum of the engines. ""Why save the monster that tried to destroy you?""
Alec stared at her, his eyes unreadable. ""Because Donald isn't in that rubble. And you're going to lead me right to him.""
