Chapter 17 - The Iron Heiress
Ethan Cross’s first bullet struck the lead mercenary directly in the center of his chest plate, throwing him off the porch.
The second round shattered the security lantern above Victor’s head, showering the porch in sparks and total darkness.
"Ambush!" Victoria screamed, diving toward the interior of the black limousine.
Chaos exploded across the clearing.
The remaining mercenary spun around, firing blindly on full automatic into the thick pines, chewing bark and branches into sawdust.
I didn't freeze.
I lowered my shoulder, driving all of my weight into the mercenary standing guard beside me.
His footing slipped on the black ice, sending him tumbling headfirst down the steep embankment.
I dropped to my knees, scraping my bound wrists against the sharp edge of a split granite boulder near the path.
The rough stone frayed the thick plastic zip-tie; with a sickening snap that tore the skin from my wrists, the cuffs broke.
My hands were free.
I didn't run into the woods; I ran straight toward the porch, straight into the gunfire.
"Claire, get down!" Anthony yelled, lunging forward with his tied torso to shield me from the ricocheting bullets.
Ethan burst from the treeline like a specter of vengeance, firing three controlled pairs through the cabin's front windows.
The second mercenary collapsed against the timber wall, clutching a shattered shoulder, his assault rifle skittering across the porch.
I dove across the wooden boards, snatching the discarded rifle before Victor Sterling could reach his private security holster.
I scrambled to my feet, kicked the heavy weapon’s fire selector to semi-automatic, and leveled the muzzle straight at Victor’s throat.
"Don't move, Victor," I commanded, my voice flat, cold, and entirely lethal.
Victor froze with his hand buried halfway inside his wool overcoat.
The silver thermos rolled off the edge of the porch, clattering into the rocks below.
Ethan vaulted onto the deck, his left arm hanging limp, his face covered in soot and blood, his Glock trained on Victor’s forehead.
"Hands on your head, Sterling," Ethan growled.
"The federal tactical response unit from Bangor was dispatched forty minutes ago when our transponder went offline."
"The airspace above this ridge is sealed."
Down in the clearing, the Mercedes limousine’s tires spun violently on the gravel as Victoria Sterling tried to flee alone.
Two unmarked armored federal suburban trucks barreled through the cabin gates, ramming the limousine broadside.
The luxury car was shoved thirty feet into the drainage ditch, its engine hissing steam and smoke into the morning sky.
Victoria was pulled from the driver’s seat by four heavily armed marshals, her silk coat torn, screaming obscenities into the wind.
Victor slowly raised his hands, placing them behind his silver hair, his eyes burning with unadulterated venom as he looked at me.
"You think this is victory, Claire?" Victor sneered, coughing through the gunpowder haze.
"You think you won because you inherited a mountain of dirty Whitmore blood money?"
"I won because I didn't die where Julian left me," I replied, pressing the cold steel barrel against his cheekbone until he flinched.
"I won because your daughter is going to prison, your shell corporations have been seized, and your empire is dead."
"You don't know anything about Eleanor," Victor whispered, his lips curling into a dying snake's grin.
"You think she brought you back out of love?"
"You think she gave you that boardroom because you are Anthony’s blood?"
"She brought you back because she is dying, Claire."
"And she needs a scapegoat to sign the international maritime indemnities before the Hague issues an arrest warrant for sixty years of piracy."
I didn't lower the rifle.
Ethan pulled a set of steel handcuffs from his tactical belt and wrenched Victor’s arms behind his back with brutal force.
"Save your testimony for the federal grand jury, Sterling," Ethan said coldly, kicking Victor’s feet out from under him.
Victor hit the porch boards with a dull groan, his silver hair dragging through the dirt.
May you like
I turned away from the monster who had haunted my family for twenty years.
I dropped the rifle, fell to my knees beside the timber armchair, and began ripping the steel chains from my father's bruised body.
