Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Terrace
The blast of cold midnight air rushed into the hall, carrying the smell of wet pine and distant rain. Curtains billowed wildly like funeral shrouds. Titan spun instantly, his protective instincts overriding Clara’s hand, planting all four paws against the slick marble, a ferocious bark exploding from his chest.
Two figures dressed in tactical gray swept through the ruined French doors, their weapons raised, suppressed barrels aimed directly at the center of the hall. They weren't Christian’s men, and they certainly weren't local authorities.
""Down!"" Christian yelled, not toward Clara, but straight at Titan.
The dog didn't listen to him, but Clara yanked Titan’s harness backward with sudden, violent strength. ""Titan, heel!""
The dog obeyed her, dropping low as two high-velocity rounds perforated the ivory armchair Clara had occupied seconds earlier, spraying white stuffing across the marble. Christian didn't hesitate. Despite his fury at Clara, his reaction was purely instinctual. He lunged across the distance, slamming his shoulder into Clara and driving her behind the massive grand piano that anchored the eastern alcove.
They hit the parquet flooring together, Christian’s heavy overcoat shielding her torso. His breath was hot against her neck, his pulse hammering against his ribs. For a second, the animosity evaporated under the raw survival imperative.
""They traced you here,"" Christian hissed, pulling a concealed Glock from inside his coat with practiced smoothness. ""Who did you sell the manifest to?""
""I didn't sell anything to anyone!"" Clara whispered harshly, wiping a streak of dust from her cheek. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't panicking. ""Those aren't my contacts. Those are the Syndicate cleaners. They aren't here for the ledger, Christian. They're here for you.""
Footsteps moved deliberately across the broken glass. A cold, synthetic voice drifted over the grand piano. ""Mr. Vance. Miss Thorne. Step into the light. The board has voted to terminate the Vance trust, effective immediately.""
Christian peered through the reflection of the piano's lacquered finish. Two mercenaries, spacing out by four yards, moving with military precision. Titan was trembling beside Clara, his jaw wet with foam, waiting for a single word.
""Clara,"" Christian whispered, his eyes locking onto hers in the darkness beneath the instrument. ""Can you hold him?""
""He doesn't want to be held,"" she breathed.
Christian reached out, placing his hand over hers on Titan’s leather harness. For the first time in three years, their fingers touched without conflict. ""On three, release him left. I take right.""
May you like
Clara nodded, her lips pale. ""One... two...""
Before she hit three, the lights throughout the entire estate died, plunging them into absolute, pitch-black silence, followed by the terrifying sound of a grenade bouncing along the marble floor.
