Chapter 9 - The Trap Closes
Crash!
The sound of shattering porcelain echoed down the vaulted stone corridor of the east wing.
Alexander’s hand dropped from my face instantly. In a fraction of a second, the vulnerable, intense man standing before me vanished, replaced by the apex predator of the underworld.
“Stay here,” Alexander ordered, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper as he pivoted and threw the door open.
I didn't listen. I followed him right out into the hallway.
A few yards away, near the grand archway leading to the nursery wing, Mrs. Gable stood frozen, her hands pressed over her mouth, staring in horror at a shattered ceramic vase lying in a pool of water on the Persian rug.
And standing ten feet away, trembling from head to toe, was Mikey.
Except he wasn't alone.
A stranger in a dark tactical jacket stood behind the boy, one arm locked tightly around Mikey’s small chest, a cold, jagged hunting knife pressed directly against the soft skin of the boy’s throat.
“Don't move, Cross!” the intruder snarled, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and unhinged. He was sweating profusely, his chest heaving as he scanned the corridor like a cornered animal. “Back away! All the way back down the hall, or I swear to God I’ll slice him right here!”
Blood rushed in my ears. The world narrowed down to the glint of steel against Mikey’s pale neck.
Alexander didn't back away. He stepped forward.
His face was completely devoid of color, carved out of pure, unadulterated ice. But beneath that icy exterior, a terrifying, volcanic fury was burning in his storm-gray eyes.
“You have three seconds to take your hand off my son,” Alexander said, his voice so quiet, so deadly calm, that it made my blood run cold. “After that, you won't live long enough to regret the decision.”
“Don't test me!” the intruder screamed, pressing the blade slightly deeper. A tiny bead of crimson welled up against Mikey’s skin.
Mikey let out a muffled sob, his eyes darting across the hallway until they locked onto mine.
Clara.
Something snapped inside me. Fear evaporated, replaced by a surge of pure, primal adrenaline.
I didn't think. I didn't calculate the risk.
While the intruder was fixated entirely on Alexander standing ten feet ahead, I dropped low, slipped silently along the shadowed wood-paneled wall of the hallway, and crept up behind a heavy oak side table lined with bronze decorative statues.
The intruder kept shouting at Alexander, waving his free hand wildly.
“I want the offshore transfer codes, Cross! I want the portfolio keys transferred to my terminal by midnight, or the kid bleeds!”
One... two... three...
I lunged forward, grabbed a heavy, twelve-pound solid bronze horse statuette off the table, and slammed it down with every ounce of strength I possessed directly across the back of the intruder’s skull.
CRACK.
The man’s eyes rolled back instantly. His grip on Mikey slackened, and he collapsed like a sack of wet cement onto the Persian rug, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Mikey stumbled forward, gasping for air.
I dropped the heavy statue, lunged across the floor, and caught the boy in my arms, pulling him tight against my chest as we both hit the carpet.
“You’re okay, Mikey. You’re safe,” I whispered, burying my face in his hair, my hands shaking uncontrollably as the adrenaline wore off and reality crashed down.
Footsteps echoed thunderously down the hall as Marco and four armed guards came around the corner, weapons drawn, only to stop dead in their tracks at the sight of an unconscious assassin on the rug and a trembling waitress holding the billionaire's son.
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Alexander didn't look at the guards. He didn't look at the intruder.
He dropped to his knees beside us in one fluid motion, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled both Mikey and me into his arms, holding us so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse our bones together to keep us safe from the entire world.
