Chapter 9 - Descent into the Chasm
The iron rungs of the fire escape bit painfully into Clara’s hands as she navigated the wet metal steps in the rain. Lily was a silent, clinging weight against her shoulder, the child’s small arms locked tight around her neck. Above them, through the open kitchen window, the sound of glass shattering and furniture being violently overturned signaled that Julian’s goons were tearing the apartment apart.
""Spread out! Search the alleys!"" Julian’s voice echoed down from the third-story landing.
Clara reached the second floor when a loud gunshot rang out from inside the apartment, followed by the dull thud of a heavy body hitting the floor. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. Marcus.
She wanted to stop, to look back, but the raw maternal instinct screaming inside her veins pushed her forward. She hit the bottom rung, which hung four feet above the trash-strewn alleyway, and dropped onto the wet asphalt, absorbing the shock with her knees to protect Lily.
""Stay down, sweetheart,"" Clara whispered, pulling the blanket tight around Lily’s head as rain began to pour in relentless sheets.
She sprinted through the shadows of the alley, hugging the brick wall. The narrow passage smelled of damp brick, diesel, and rotting cardboard. At the mouth of the alley, headlights swept across the wet street—a sleek black SUV was cruising slowly along the curb, its tinted windows masking the men inside.
Clara ducked behind a row of metal dumpsters, her burgundy velvet gown soaked with filthy gutter water, clinging heavily to her legs. Lily didn't make a sound, but Clara could feel the child’s tiny heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
The black SUV paused right in front of the alleyway. The driver’s side window rolled down two inches. An arm extended out, cigarette smoke trailing into the rain.
""Check the next block,"" a voice barked from inside the vehicle. ""She can't run far on foot in those heels with a kid in her arms. Mrs. Vance says if the girl has the flash drive, take the child and dump the mother in the river.""
The cruelty was so casual it made Clara’s stomach churn with nausea. These weren't corporate fixers; Eleanor had hired professional hitters.
The SUV hit the gas, tires splashing puddles as it accelerated down the avenue.
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Clara waited ten agonizing seconds before breaking into a run in the opposite direction. Her high-heeled shoes slipped on the slick pavement. Without hesitation, she kicked them off, running barefoot across the freezing gravel toward the laundromat where Marcus had parked. But when she rounded the corner onto the avenue, her heart sank.
Marcus's unmarked sedan was there—surrounded by two police cruisers with their lights off, and standing beside the driver’s door was Sophia, holding an open umbrella and staring right at her.
