Chapter 8 - The Viper's Nest
"David, what are you doing?" I whispered, completely paralyzed by the sight of the blade.
My husband's face was completely twisted in a mask of cold, calculating determination.
"I need you to hand over your weapon, Rachel," David demanded, his voice entirely devoid of the love I once knew.
"You are in shock from the blood loss," I tried to rationalize, slowly reaching for my holster to disarm myself.
"I am completely lucid," he replied harshly, stepping closer to ensure I didn't try anything tactical.
I carefully placed my sidearm onto the metal tray, completely baffled by his sudden betrayal.
"Why are you doing this, David?" I begged, tears welling in my eyes.
"Because Vance didn't keep me in a black-site prison to torture me," David confessed smoothly.
"He kept me there to train me as his personal, off-the-books assassin."
The horrifying reality struck me with the force of a physical blow.
David had not been forced to hunt us down; he was a willing participant in Vance's treasonous operation.
"You sold out your own country?" I gasped in pure disgust.
"I secured our family's financial future," David corrected arrogantly.
"Patricia Ferguson is paying Vance fifty million dollars for those weapon codes, and I am getting a massive cut."
He grabbed a spool of heavy surgical tape and quickly bound my wrists to the armrests of the chair.
"I orchestrated Nicholas marrying Abigail so we could easily merge our families and launder the money flawlessly."
My entire world completely shattered into a million jagged pieces.
My husband had intentionally subjected our innocent daughter to a violent, abusive monster just for a payout.
"You are a coward and a traitor," I spat fiercely, pulling uselessly against the heavy tape.
"I am a very wealthy man," David smirked, pocketing my sidearm.
"I am going to meet Patricia to finalize the transaction, and then I am going to disappear for good."
He looked over at Abigail's unconscious, recovering body on the surgical table.
"It really is a shame she had to get hurt, but collateral damage is part of the job."
David turned his back on me and walked confidently up the stairs, leaving us trapped in the basement.
I struggled violently against the surgical tape, my wrists bleeding as I fought to break free.
The smuggler suddenly stepped out from the shadows of the supply closet, holding a pair of heavy trauma shears.
"I really hate domestic disputes," the smuggler grunted, easily snipping the thick tape binding my wrists.
I stood up, rubbing my raw skin and glaring at the staircase.
"I need a weapon," I demanded, my sorrow instantly transforming into pure, lethal rage.
The smuggler opened a hidden wall safe and tossed me a heavily modified tactical submachine gun.
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"Go get your husband, Colonel."
I racked the charging handle, stepping onto the stairs with absolute, murderous intent.
