Chapter 2 - Flight into the Frost
I pounded on the bedroom door. "Clara, it's me. Open it."
The lock clicked, and Clara stood there, clutching Maya to her chest. She was shaking so violently I thought she might collapse. I grabbed her coat from the bed and draped it over her shoulders, then reached into the closet and pulled out a thick blanket to wrap around them both.
"We have to leave. Now," I said, my hands gripping her arms to steady her.
"It was Sterling's man, wasn't it?" Clara sobbed, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. "He found us."
"He found me," I corrected, a wave of sickening guilt washing over me. "I led him right to you. Clara, I am so sorry, but we need to move. My security team is en route."
I ushered her through the kitchen toward the backdoor. The alleyway was dark, illuminated only by the harsh glare of a single streetlight. My Aston Martin was parked at the end of the driveway, its engine already humming in the freezing air—I had left it running, expecting a quick, bitter confrontation.
"Get in the back," I instructed, opening the heavy car door.
As Clara slid into the backseat, shielding Maya from the biting wind, headlights flared at the end of the street. Two black SUVs swung around the corner, accelerating toward us. Victor had brought friends.
I threw myself into the driver's seat, slammed the car into gear, and floored the accelerator. The V12 engine roared like a caged beast. The tires spun on the ice for a fraction of a second before finding purchase, launching us forward.
"Hold on!" I yelled.
I whipped the steering wheel, taking a sharp left down a narrow alley, narrowly missing a dumpster. The heavy SUVs couldn't make the turn as cleanly, smashing into the brick wall of a bakery before correcting themselves. But they were still coming.
"Julian, they're going to kill us!" Clara screamed, her body curled tightly around the baby.
"No one is touching you," I swore, my eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the icy road ahead.
I navigated the labyrinth of Evanston’s residential streets with reckless precision, running stop signs and sliding around corners. The Aston Martin was built for speed, but the snow was our enemy. The SUVs were gaining ground.
Just as we burst onto a wider boulevard, two massive black Range Rovers intercepted the street from the opposite direction. For a terrifying second, I thought we were boxed in. Then, the lead Range Rover deliberately swerved, slamming head-on into Sterling’s pursuing SUV. The crunch of metal was deafening.
My phone buzzed. It was Marcus.
May you like
"Roadblock is clear, Boss. Take Interstate 90. We have a safe house prepped in Wisconsin."
I blew past the wreckage, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked in the rearview mirror. Clara was trembling, holding our daughter, staring at me as if I were a stranger. In many ways, I was. But I was exactly the monster they needed tonight.
