Chapter 8 - Blood and Concrete
Mary-Ann slammed into me, knocking the gun from my hand. It skittered across the concrete floor, out of reach.
She was surprisingly strong, fueled by the desperation of a woman about to lose a billion-dollar empire. She grabbed my hair, slamming my head against the concrete wall. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and my vision blurred.
"You ruined everything!" she shrieked, her fingers wrapping tightly around my throat. "I earned this life! I took the sick, pathetic girl and made her an empire! You're nothing!"
I choked, clawing at her hands, but her grip was like iron. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.
Through the roaring in my ears, I heard the brutal sounds of Julian fighting for his life. The security guard was pummeling him, but Julian refused to let go, fueled by the guilt of his past and the desperate need to save his daughter.
I couldn't breathe. I was fading.
My hand frantically swept the floor, brushing against something heavy. The flashlight the security guard had dropped.
With the last ounce of my strength, I gripped the heavy metal cylinder and swung it upward with everything I had. It cracked sickeningly against the side of Mary-Ann's head.
She let out a piercing scream, stumbling backward, clutching her bleeding temple.
I gasped for air, coughing violently as I fell to my knees. I looked up. Julian was losing. The guard had him pinned and was raising his gun.
"Hey!" I screamed.
The guard turned toward me for a fraction of a second. It was all the distraction Marcus needed.
The service elevator doors, which had remained open, suddenly pinged. Marcus stood there, pale but furious, holding his LAPD issue shotgun.
"Hands in the air, scumbag," Marcus growled.
The guard dropped his weapon, raising his hands.
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Mary-Ann stared at us, blood streaming down her face, her red gown ruined. The masquerade was over.
"Get up," I told her, picking up my handgun and aiming it at her. "You're going to tell the world exactly who you are."
