Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Empire
Damon ripped the wire from my chest and crushed the microphone under his expensive shoe.
He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a red button.
Heavy steel shutters instantly slammed down over the penthouse windows, locking us entirely inside.
"Nobody is coming to save you, Clara," Damon snarled, his eyes wild with psychotic rage.
Another contraction hit me, harder than any before, and I screamed in pure agony.
My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the expensive Persian rug.
"She is in labor, you monster, get a doctor!" my father yelled, struggling violently against his ropes.
Damon just smiled, watching me writhe in pain on the floor.
"Perfect timing," Damon said calmly.
"Once the child is born, I won't need either of you alive anymore."
He raised his gun, aiming directly at my father's head to finish him off.
Before Damon could pull the trigger, the heavy steel doors of the penthouse exploded inward.
Debris and smoke filled the room as a dozen FBI tactical agents swarmed the office.
Lacey had not just gone to the police; she had gone directly to the federal authorities.
"Drop the weapon!" the lead agent screamed, aiming an assault rifle at Damon's chest.
Damon panicked, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me up as a human shield.
He pressed the barrel of his revolver hard against my temple.
"Back off, or I blow her brains out!" Damon roared, dragging me toward the private balcony.
He kicked the glass door open, dragging me out into the freezing night air.
We were forty stories above the city streets, the wind howling around us.
My body completely betrayed me, and a final, massive contraction forced me to buckle forward.
My sudden drop in weight caught Damon off guard.
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He stumbled backward, hitting the low glass railing of the balcony.
The glass shattered under his weight, and Damon tumbled over the edge into the dark abyss.
