Chapter 2 - The Face of the Executioner
The room smelled of sweat, broken plaster, and metallic panic.
Corrine released Alora’s hair as if she had suddenly gripped a burning coal. She stumbled back two steps, her eyes bulging as she stared at me. Sloan stood frozen beside the ruined safe, her hands still coated in gray drywall dust, looking like a child caught stealing matches in a powder keg.
“Thane...” Corrine stammered, her voice dropping three octaves from the demonic screech she had used moments earlier. Her hands began to tremble, and she instinctively pulled her designer cardigan tight around her chest. “You... you’re supposed to be over the Pacific. Your flight—”
“My flight was delayed,” I said. My tone was terrifyingly flat, completely devoid of inflection. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't shout. The sheer, unnatural stillness of my posture seemed to compress the atmospheric pressure in the room.
I ignored both of them entirely, stepping past the debris on the floor and dropping to my knees beside Alora.
The moment my shadow fell over her, Alora flinched violently, raising her arms to protect her face. “Don't... please...”
“It’s me, sweetheart,” I murmured softly, my hands carefully taking hers. “It’s Thane. You’re safe now. I’m right here.”
When Alora opened her eyes and recognized me, a gut-wrenching sob tore from her throat. She threw her arms around my neck, her whole body shaking violently as she buried her face into the crook of my shoulder. I pulled her against my chest, lifting her delicate frame off the cold wood, careful not to press against her abdomen. I held her with my left arm while keeping my right body turned toward the room, an iron shield between my wife and the predators.
Her cheek was red and swollen, a bloody welt forming near her temple where Corrine’s ring had caught her skin.
“Thane, oh God, Thane,” Alora gasped, her chest heaving as she clung to my coat. “They... they said you were gone... they were going to take everything...”
“Shh,” I whispered, resting my chin against her crown, breathing in the scent of her lavender shampoo, now tainted by the metallic tang of blood. “They aren't taking anything. They’re never touching you again.”
Behind me, the sound of Sloan’s frantic breathing turned into a sharp, desperate laughter. She was trying to reassemble her composure, stepping over the Rimowa suitcase.
“Thane, look, this isn't what it looks like!” Sloan blurted out, her voice rising in a sharp, defensive whine. “We were... we were coming to check on Alora! She was acting totally crazy, throwing things, trying to break into your safe while you were gone! We were trying to stop her!”
I slowly turned my head. My eyes locked onto Sloan.
Sloan flinched under my gaze, taking an involuntary step backward until her spine hit the broken closet frame.
“You were stopping her?” I asked softly. “With an eight-pound sledgehammer?”
“She locked herself in here!” Corrine chimed in, her maternal instincts for self-preservation kicking into overdrive. She stepped forward, putting on a face of dramatic, tragic distress. “Thane, my son, listen to me! Your wife is sick in the head! The pregnancy hormones have made her completely unstable. She called us here at midnight, threatening to destroy your financial records and sell your property deeds to competitors! Sloan brought the hammer to secure the safe before she ruined you!”
Corrine reached out a hand, her fingers trembling, trying to touch my shoulder. “I did it to protect you, Thane! I struck her only because she attacked your sister! I am your mother—I would never lie to you!”
I stared at Corrine’s face. The artfully applied makeup, the gold earrings I had bought her for her last birthday, the diamonds sparkling on her fingers—all paid for with my money, all earned through my blood and sweat.
“You hit my pregnant wife,” I said, every word dropping like an anvil onto glass. “You called our child a bastard.”
Corrine’s fake distress faltered for a second, a flash of irritation slipping through her mask. “I was angry! She was provoking me! You know how ungrateful she is, Thane! After everything I’ve done for this family—”
“Save it,” I cut her off.
In the distance, down the long private driveway of the estate, the faint, wailing hum of sirens began to cut through the night air.
Sloan’s face went chalk-white. “Thane... are those police cars? Did you actually call the cops on us? On your own family?!”
“No,” I said, lifting Alora gently into my arms as I stood up. “I called the police on two home invaders who broke into my house, assaulted my wife, and attempted grand larceny.”
“Thane, stop this ridiculous game right now!” Corrine barked, her aristocratic demeanor completely shattering into panic. “Tell them to turn around! If the press gets hold of this, it will ruin the Sterling name! Think of the company stock! Think of my reputation at the country club!”
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“Your reputation,” I said, stepping toward the bedroom door with Alora cradled against my chest, “is about to be the absolute least of your concerns.”
I didn't wait for her response. I carried my wife down the stairs, leaving the two women screaming my name into the empty, vaulted hall of the house they had tried to destroy.
