Chapter 11 - The Anatomy of Rage
Mark stepped closer, the water parting around his polished shoes like dark ripples of oil. In the faint, trembling beam of Elena's light, his face looked completely unraveled. The polished, charismatic executive who smiled at dinner parties was entirely gone; what remained was the vicious, insecure tyrant who ruled through terror behind closed mahogany doors.
""Step aside, Elena,"" Mark growled, his gaze never leaving Clara. ""This is between a man and his wife. You always were a parasitic nuisance, but I'll deal with you after I remind Clara of her vows.""
""You don't have a wife, Mark,"" Clara said, her voice surprisingly steady, echoing against the curved brick walls. The trembling in her chest had vanished, replaced by an incandescent, burning fury that had been suppressed for half a decade. ""You have a prisoner who just escaped.""
Elena leveled her firearm directly at Mark’s forehead. ""Back away, Mark. You don't have the stomach for this.""
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Mark laughed—a high-pitched, manic sound that bounced sickeningly off the damp ceiling. ""You think I came alone?"" He held up the radio transmitter and clicked the button twice.
From the shadows behind him, two heavily armed operatives stepped out into the water, laser sights painting bright crimson targets across Elena's chest and Clara's throat. ""I made a deal with the Council,"" Mark smiled, his lips peeling back from his teeth. ""I give them the drive. I give them you, Elena. And in return... I get Clara. Forever.""
