Chapter 9 - Flight and Fight
"Drop the gun, Eleanor," a voice commanded.
It was the scarred enforcer, Vance. He stepped forward, pulling a heavy pistol from his jacket. "You stopped paying my retainer three months ago. And kidnapping is one thing, but murder? That brings the feds. I ain't going down for your mess."
In the split second that Eleanor turned her gun toward Vance, Lyra moved. She didn't have the refined grace of a socialite; she had the brutal efficiency of a street fighter. She grabbed a heavy crystal champagne flute from a passing tray and hurled it with terrifying precision.
The heavy glass smashed directly into Eleanor's wrist. The revolver clattered to the marble floor.
"Run!" Lyra yelled, grabbing Seraphina's hand.
They sprinted toward the kitchen corridors, moving in perfect sync. Eleanor screamed behind them, ordering her remaining loyal guards to stop them, but the mansion was already in pandemonium. Sirens wailed in the distance; the guests had called the police the moment they hit the street.
Seraphina led them through the servant's quarters, punching codes into security keypads to lock the steel doors behind them, sealing Eleanor and her men inside the gala wing.
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They burst out through the loading dock doors into the cool, chaotic night. Red and blue police lights were already sweeping across the manicured lawns. Swat teams were rushing the front gates.
They had done it. They had burned the empire down.
