Chapter 8 - The Rupture
The gunshot was swallowed instantly by an apocalyptic blast of orange fire. The concussion ripped through the alley, splintering the shipping pallets into jagged shrapnel and tossing Arthur off his feet like a rag doll.
Victoria shielded Clara with her body, taking the brunt of the falling debris against her bare back. The heat seared through her damp dress, but she didn't pause to feel the pain. Adrenaline surged through her veins like liquid fire.
She scrambled to her feet, dragging Clara out from beneath the smoking timber.
Arthur lay ten feet away on the wet asphalt, his umbrella shredded, his face blackened by soot, blood running freely from his ears. He was groaning, reaching blindly for the weapon that had been thrown into the darkness.
Victoria walked over to him. She did not hesitate. She picked up his fallen gun, ejected the magazine to check the rounds, slapped it back into place, and leveled it at his forehead.
"Tell Richard," Victoria whispered, her voice devoid of human warmth, "that the Geneva agreement is void."
Arthur blinked through the blood in his eyes, a grimace forming on his lips. "You... you can't protect her, Victoria. Julian has the harbor locked down. The entire police department... Richard owns the commissioners."
"Then I will tear the city down around him," she said.
She did not pull the trigger. Instead, she struck him across the jaw with the heavy steel frame, knocking him into unconsciousness. She stripped his trench coat from his shoulders, wrapped Clara in it, and took the keys to the black SUV.
"Get in," Victoria commanded, opening the passenger door.
May you like
As Clara climbed inside, her small fingers caught Victoria’s sleeve. "Where are we going?"
Victoria climbed behind the wheel, staring at the brass key numbered 404 lying on the dashboard. "To locker 404. We're going to find out what Helena died to protect."
