Chapter 61
CHAPTER
SIXTY-ONE
Hudson threw his weight sideways.
The chair leg cracked. But not enough.
He did it again.
This time, the wood splintered.
One more time—
He tried again, and the leg snapped completely.
Hudson crashed to the floor, only inches from falling in the water.
Pain shot through his shoulder where he’d landed, but he didn’t care. He rolled, used his feet against the broken chair leg to create leverage, and felt the back support crack.
Three more minutes of painful maneuvering, and he’d worked the broken chair pieces loose enough to slide the zip ties off. His wrists were bloody, his shoulders screaming from the unnatural position.
But he was free.
He stood on shaking legs, his body still trembling from the Taser’s aftereffects. His ribs screamed with every breath, but he’d deal with that later.
He moved to the door on unsteady feet, testing the handle even though he knew what he’d find.
Locked from the outside, of course. Heavy deadbolt, commercial grade. Not something he could kick through, especially not in his current condition.
Hudson turned, assessing the boathouse despite his addled state. Windows on three sides—large panes designed to showcase the view of the river. Expensive glass but glass, nonetheless.
And glass broke.
He grabbed a wooden boat hook from the wall—six feet of solid ash with a metal hook on the end. Perfect.
Hudson didn’t hesitate. He swung the boat hook like a baseball bat, putting all his remaining strength behind it.
The window exploded outward in a shower of glittering shards, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet afternoon.
So much for stealth.
Shouts erupted from the main house immediately—security guards responding to the noise, raised voices, running footsteps on the dock.
Hudson didn’t wait. He knocked out the remaining shards from the window frame with the boat hook, then climbed through, glass from the shards he’d missed cutting his hands.
He hit the dock on the other side and stumbled, his legs still not fully responding after the electric shock and being zip-tied.
“Stop!” The shout came from behind him, accompanied by the sound of multiple men running.
The car pulled through the gates of Norfolk International Terminals—not the passenger area but a private section Natalie had never seen before. She’d tried to refuse to go, but Dimitri had personally escorted her out of her father’s house, his firm grip no doubt leaving a bruise on her arm.
Though she’d pleaded with her dad and told him she wanted to stay, he’d pretended not to hear.
She scanned the area. Above her, the October sky hung low. An autumn wind swept across the open expanse of pavement, tugging at the flags flying over the security booth and making the chain-link fences rattle against their posts.
Industrial warehouses lined the perimeter, massive, utilitarian structures of corrugated metal and concrete.
Beyond them stretched container yards that seemed to go on forever, stacked shipping containers creating colorful canyons of red, blue, and green.
Massive cranes loomed like skeletal giants against the cloudy sky, their arms extended over cargo ships docked at distant piers.
A few workers in reflective vests moved among the containers in the distance, operating forklifts, checking manifests, going about the normal business of one of the East Coast’s busiest ports.
But here, in this private section, everything felt isolated. Separate.
Wrong.
The area they drove through was eerily quiet compared to the bustling activity in the other parts of the terminal.
No workers. No other vehicles except her father’s security convoy.
Just empty pavement stretching toward a clear area marked with a white H.
A helipad.
A sick feeling gurgled in her stomach.
She was out of options right now.
“Dad, please,” Natalie said from the back seat where Dimitri sat beside her, his presence a wall she couldn’t escape. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s really happening.”
“I’m protecting you.” Her father’s voice from the front seat was firm. “That’s all you need to know.”
“By taking me to Italy against my will? This isn’t protection—it’s kidnapping.”
“Watch your tone, young lady.”
The car stopped near the helipad, and Natalie saw the helicopter approaching from the east—sleek, private, expensive.
Her father’s escape plan, his way of getting away from here before the chemical attack. His way of saving himself while thousands of others suffered.
Dimitri opened her door and waited for Natalie to climb out.
She had no choice. Dimitri’s hand rested on his hip, the outline of a weapon beneath his jacket.
She was trapped. Surrounded by her father’s security at a private terminal with no witnesses, about to be flown out of the country.
But maybe—maybe she could still stop whatever was happening. Still prevent Critical Mass.
After all, how could she live with herself if she knew this was going to happen, if she knew she’d been saved while others suffered?
She couldn’t play dumb anymore. It was her only move.