Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Velvet
Chloe stood frozen in the dark corner behind the open door, her heart pounding so violently against her ribs she was certain Tommy could hear it. The smell of cheap liquor, stale sweat, and damp earth drifted off him, filling the luxurious room with the suffocating stench of her past nightmare.
Tommy took two slow steps toward the empty canopy bed, his revolver raised, his eyes scanning the shadows near the window.
“You thought you were clever, didn't you?” Tommy sneered softly, his voice trembling with unhinged malice. “Running to a big rich mafia boss... hiding behind his fancy gates... You thought he’d protect you from me?”
He reached the edge of the bed, yanking the heavy duvet back, finding only pillows beneath the sheets.
His face contorted in rage. “Where are you?!” he bellowed, turning around wildly.
That was her only chance.
Chloe stepped out from behind the door, raised the heavy brass candlestick with both hands, and swung it with all the desperate strength remaining in her body.
CRACK.
The solid metal struck Tommy across the side of his jaw. He let out a choked roar of pain, stumbling sideways against the nightstand, sending a glass lamp crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks and shattered crystal.
Chloe dropped the candlestick and sprinted toward the open hallway door. “JULIAN!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “JULIAN!”
Before she could clear the threshold, a heavy, iron-like grip clamped down around her ankle. Tommy had lunged across the floor, dragging her down onto the hardwood.
Chloe screamed as her chin struck the floor. She kicked frantically with her free foot, striking Tommy across his bandaged arm. He gritted his teeth, snarling like a rabid dog, pinning her body down with his weight, his gloved hand closing tightly around her throat.
“You bitch!” Tommy hissed, his bloodshot eyes staring down into hers, pressing his thumb into her windpipe. “I’m taking you out of here in a body bag!”
Chloe gasped for air, her vision darkening at the edges, her hands clawing futilely at his wrists. The world began to spin, the sound of her own frantic heart fading into a dull, distant roar.
Suddenly, a hand reached down from above, grabbing Tommy by the back of his collar.
With a single, explosive burst of force, Tommy was yanked backward off Chloe’s body and thrown ten feet across the room. He slammed heavily into the solid oak wardrobe, the force of the impact shattering the wooden paneling.
Chloe rolled onto her side, coughing violently, dragging cool air back into her burning lungs.
Standing in the doorway was Julian.
He was wearing black trousers and a charcoal dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up, a heavy tactical pistol held in his right hand. His face was devoid of all human emotion—a blank, terrifying void of absolute, murderous intent.
Behind him, Marcus and three guards rushed into the room, their weapons drawn, instantly securing the hallway.
Tommy coughed up blood, groaning as he struggled to push himself up from the ruined wardrobe. He raised his revolver with a trembling hand, pointing it toward Julian’s chest. “You... you ruined me, Vance! I’ll take you to hell with me!”
Julian didn't flinch. He didn't duck or reach for cover.
He took three slow, deliberate steps forward, closed the distance, grabbed the barrel of Tommy’s revolver with his bare left hand, and twisted it violently downward.
SNAP.
Tommy’s fingers broke with a sickening sound. He shrieked in agony as the weapon was wrenched from his grip. Before his scream could clear his throat, Julian brought the heavy steel butt of his tactical pistol down across Tommy’s face.
Tommy collapsed onto his back, blood spraying across the light velvet rug.
Julian stood over him, breathing steadily, his dark eyes looking down at the broken gang leader like a man looking at a cockroach beneath his boot.
“Marcus,” Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of even a trace of excitement.
“Sir?” Marcus stepped forward, his expression hard.
“He breached my estate,” Julian stated smoothly. “He laid his hands on a guest under my roof.”
Julian racked the slide of his pistol, chambering a heavy round with a cold, metallic click that echoed through the quiet room.
“Take him to the docks,” Julian ordered softly. “Do not let him die quickly.”
Tommy’s eyes filled with supreme, absolute terror as Marcus and two heavy operators grabbed him by his arms, dragging his limp, bleeding body out of the room. His desperate pleas for mercy faded down the long hallway, dying out completely as the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor slammed shut.
Silence returned to the master suite.
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Julian turned around slowly. The cold, lethal mask on his face didn't fade entirely, but as his eyes landed on Chloe—curled on the floor, shaking, clutching her throat—his posture shifted slightly.
He holstered his weapon, walked over, and knelt on the floor beside her.
