Chapter 9 - The Gunshot in the Rain
A deafening BANG shattered the air inside the study.
The muzzle flash illuminated the room in a bright, blinding burst of blue-white light.
Ryan stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock. The heavy iron crowbar slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud. He stumbled backward two steps, gasping for air, clutching his right shoulder where a dark spot was rapidly spreading across his wet jacket.
He collapsed onto his knees, groaning in pain, his manic rage vanishing instantly into whimpering fear.
Ethan didn't fire a second time. He stepped forward, kicked the iron crowbar across the room away from Ryan's reach, and stood over the bleeding man, his gun held firmly at his side.
"You're lucky I aimed for the shoulder," Ethan said, his tone devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
The heavy walnut doors of the study burst open, and Vance rushed into the room with four armed security guards, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
"Mr. Caldwell!" Vance shouted, seeing Ryan bleeding on the floor. "Status!"
"Target is down and disarmed," Ethan ordered calmly, stepping back toward me. "Secure him, call an ambulance, and notify the Chief of Police directly. Tell him I want Ryan charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault, and armed burglary."
"Right away, sir!" Vance commanded, his guards dropping to their knees to cuff Ryan's hands behind his back.
Ryan raised his head, looking up at Ethan through the rain and blood dripping down his face. "You think you won, Caldwell?" he spat, coughing up blood. "You think having money makes you a hero? You're just a man in a high tower!"
Ethan didn't even look down at him. He turned his back on Ryan completely, stepped over to where I was standing near the fireplace, and put his gun into his coat pocket.
He reached out, his long, warm hands taking my cold face into his palms, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears I hadn't realized were streaming down my cheeks.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer than I had ever heard it before, completely transformed from the lethal killer who had just fired a gun three seconds ago.
"No..." I sobbed, my body trembling so hard I could barely stand. "No, I'm okay... Ethan, you're bleeding!"
I looked down at his left sleeve, where a sharp piece of flying glass from the shattered window had sliced open his forearm, soaking the dark fabric of his coat in blood.
Ethan looked down at his arm as if he hadn't even noticed the wound.
"It's just a scratch, Ivy," he whispered, stepping closer, pulling my trembling body against his chest.
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I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, burying my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedar, rain, and gunpowder. The terror that had haunted me for months—the shadows behind the dumpsters, the suffocating hands on my neck, the crushing weight of my debt—seemed to vanish entirely into the strength of his arms.
"It's over," Ethan whispered into my damp hair, holding me tighter against his beating heart. "He's never going to touch you again. I promise you, Ivy."
