Chapter 8 - The Breach of the Ivory Tower
The realization that Dominic Ward was standing ten feet away from me,
free and armed,
sent a jolt of pure,
electric terror through my body.
How had he escaped?
The federal detention center was supposed to be impenetrable.
But then I remembered the journals.
He didn't need to break out;
he just needed to make one phone call to the right person.
One person who feared the contents of those books more than they feared the law.
I watched through the slat in the panel as Dominic walked into the center of the bedroom.
He was wearing a dark tactical jacket,
his face illuminated by the harsh white light of a flashlight.
He looked transformed,
no longer the polished businessman,
but a predator in his natural habitat.
"I know you’re in here,
Victoria,"
he said,
his voice echoing in the small room.
"I know how you think.
You always have a bolt hole.
You always have a plan B."
He began to pace,
the sound of his boots like a death knell.
"You think you’re so righteous.
You think the law is this grand,
unchanging thing.
But it’s just a tool,
Victoria.
It’s a hammer,
and I’m the one who decided who gets hit."
He stopped in front of the closet.
I raised my gun,
lining it up with the center of his chest.
"Give me the journals,
and I’ll let Clara live,"
he said,
his voice dropping to a low,
menacing growl.
"The baby,
too.
I’ll let them go to Europe.
They’ll never see me again.
But if you make me hunt for them...
well,
you know what I’m capable of."
The threat to my daughter was the final straw.
I didn't care about the trap.
I didn't care about the odds.
I kicked the panel open and stepped out,
my gun held steady in both hands.
"Drop it,
Dominic,"
I commanded,
my voice ringing out with the authority of twenty years on the bench.
The two men with him immediately raised their weapons,
the red laser dots of their sights dancing across my chest.
Dominic didn't flinch.
He just smiled,
a slow,
ghastly expression.
"There she is,"
he said.
"The Iron Judge.
Tell me,
Victoria,
does the law feel heavy right now?
Does it feel like it’s protecting you?"
"The law isn't what’s going to kill you tonight,
Dominic,"
I said,
my eyes never leaving his.
"I am."
"With what?"
he laughed.
"You’re one woman in a dark room surrounded by professionals.
Do you really think you can pull that trigger before they put ten rounds in you?"
"I don't have to,"
I said.
At that moment,
the windows of the apartment shattered inward.
Flashbangs detonated,
filling the room with a blinding white light and a deafening roar.
I dropped to the floor,
covering my head.
Shouts echoed through the smoke.
"FBI!
Drop the weapons!"
The room erupted in gunfire,
the sharp cracks of tactical rifles drowning out everything else.
I crawled toward the kitchen,
the smoke stinging my eyes.
I felt a hand grab my arm and pull me upward.
"I’ve got you!"
Thorne shouted over the chaos.
He dragged me toward the door as the tactical team moved in,
their suppressed weapons spitting fire into the darkness.
"Where’s Dominic?"
I coughed,
stumbling into the hallway.
"We don't know!"
Thorne yelled.
"The back exit was breached!"
We ran down the stairs,
the sound of the battle fading behind us.
As we burst out into the cool night air,
I saw the black SUVs lined up along the curb.
Thorne pushed me into the back of one and climbed in beside me.
"Go!
Go!"
he shouted to the driver.
As the car sped away,
I looked back at the apartment building.
A lone figure was standing on the roof,
watching us leave.
It was Dominic.
He wasn't running.
He was standing there,
perfectly still,
like a dark god surveying his kingdom.
He had escaped again.
And now,
the lines were officially blurred.
He wasn't just a criminal anymore.
May you like
He was an insurgent.
And the city was his battlefield.
